The Lady & The King
by Universe Creator
Summary: When Uther receives a marriage proposal on behalf of the heir of Tir-Mor, Morgana must cope with leaving behind her home, her family, all for the war-torn country of a man whose name she barely knows. Can she handle the transition from Lady to Queen? And what of her future-husband?
1. Wedding Bells Ring (Part I)

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

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><p>Morgana sighed as she stood on the dressing-pavilion. Gwen's nimble fingers worked on buttoning her dress as she stared blankly at herself in the large mirror before her.<p>

_This is it. _She thought. _My wedding day…_

In her last moment of freedom, in a kingdom to which she had never before traveled as she was far from her home, with only Gwen as her only friend and comfort, about to be married to a man whose name she did not know two months ago, and who she had never met once in her entire week of being here, Morgana reflected upon how it all began.

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><p>Uther Pendragon sighed as he sat at the table, reading over document after document of new law proposals, reports of all kinds, and charts of numbers that began to blur together before he rubbed his tired eyes. The peace and quiet of the deserted council room is shattered by a rapt knocking on the door.<p>

"Enter." Uther glares at the door.

The royal herald quickly burst through the doors, looking as if he'd just run a mile. "My lord…a messaged…from Tir-Mor…has arrived with…urgency." He pants.

Uther's eyebrows arch as he reaches forward and snatches the letter, quickly unfurling the scroll with the seal of Tir-Mor's royal family, the wax *****buck standing out against the pale paper with its inky-outline.

_Highly esteemed Majesty,_

_It is with great regret that we inform you of the passing of the revered __*****__King Cedric. As you may well know, he left behind only one son and a step-daughter, Prince __*****__Brendan and Lady Sophia. Due to young Brendan being the only surviving male of the line, he is to be crowned King effective immediately. However, his father has left the kingdom in an unsavory state of inheritance. King Cedric had initiated war with our divided neighbor, __*****__Thárros, some three years prior, and the war is still ongoing despite Prince Adam's attempts at negotiating peace in these past few months following his father's death. Thárros now sees us as vulnerable and is seeking to overthrow our Royal Family to combine our might and land with their own, as our beloved King Cedric sought to do onto them. _

_Unfortunately, we pose not enough strength to do more than keep Thárros forces at bay with the Three Year War taking its toll. In light of this and the prince's young age, we seek to strengthen our ties with our four greatest allies. We offer Prince Adam's hand in marriage to any Majesty that can send a minimum of two-hundred men, and Tir-Mor's claim to the strategic lands of Gedref currently also, longingly withstanding in dispute._

_The bride, of whichever lord can spare the most men, is to be sent to our kingdom along with the agreed upon forces upon acceptance._

_Godspeed, High-Council delegation of Tir-Mor_

"By God," Uther breathed as he finished reading the letter. "After three years…I must call a meeting immediately. Time must not be wasted. Where is Tir-Mor's messenger?"

"Just outside of the city, my lord." The herald answered, stiffening under the king's glare.

"Bring him into the castle at once. I want him set in a guest room until the negotiations on our part can be settled. Take a group of guards with you."

The herald bows. "Yes, Sire, it shall be done."

The king storms out of the council chambers, letter in hand.

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><p>"Arthur," Morgana approaches a sulking prince as he glares at the doors of the war council room, Gwen trailing closely behind. "What's the matter?"<p>

"Father is holding an important discussion with the small council and the nobles of the court, but he will not let me participate."

"Is this about the news the herald that Uther has had moved into the guest wing near my room?"

"I would assume so." He says bitterly. "They've been in there for five hours now! What could be going on that Father will not allow me to sit in, as is my duty?"

"I have no idea." Morgana answers honestly. "But I'm sure Uther has good reason."

As if on cue, the doors open to reveal a haggard but triumphant-looking king. His smile falls as soon as his eyes land on the two of them, though, and they both wonder why their appearance has done to dampen his spirits so instantly.

"Morgana, Arthur…" Uther says in his normal tone, he clears his throat before nodding to them and turning on his heel. "I have business to attend to."

With that, he was gone, leaving the two dumbfounded as they exchanged a glance of uncertainty.

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><p>Morgana smiled bitterly at the memory.<p>

It wasn't until later that same evening that Uther and a furious-looking Arthur had swept into her chambers and Uther delivered her the news of the matter. He left no room for argument, even when Arthur tried to take her place by offering to marry the stepdaughter, Sophia.

Within a week, the messenger, and nearly three-hundred soldiers of Camelot's army, had set sail on a passenger ship for Tir-Mor. Boat, after all, was the fastest mode of travel. It would also be threatening to have three-hundred men marching into territory across the country. To seal the deal, Uther had said that he could send up to a thousand men, in increments of course, a fifth of Camelot's total armed forces.

Morgana, meanwhile, was sent with them, but she traveled secretly with Gwen through the country, protected by a very small group of alternating guards from their various allies. It had taken an entire month-and-a-half for the boat of soldiers to arrive, and them a week longer. To make matters worse, Arthur was not even allowed to come with her as chaperone, since the land was being torn by war. The only reason Gwen was to come, with Morgana's permission, was that Tom, her father and only remaining family aside from her missing brother, had died last winter of pneumonia.

Morgana still felt guilty that her mounted search for Eylan had yielded no results, even with the entire kingdom searching on reward of her entire inheritance from her father.

Now, that inheritance would be used in compensation for a dowry, if not simply added to her husband's wealth.

She wondered what he looked like, what he was like. She had only met his step-sister, who was Morgana's age, the Lady Sophia, from King Cedric's second marriage. She seemed nice, and a good person to talk to so she could get her bearings, that was certain. No one even knew that she was the future-queen upon her arrival, due to traveling in secret. Before today, they all believed her to be a traveling delegate on Uther's behalf. After all, it was not uncommon for noblemen's daughters to be on the council, even if they rarely participated; they needed to have the status of council member to keep their House's wealth. So, she would meet most of the ladies of court and the nobles at her reception feast.

"You look beautiful, Morgana." Gwen said as she moved to stand beside her.

She did, but she felt anything but beautiful right now.

Her dress was made of fine, purple silk that hugged her in all of the right places while still looking proper and elegant. It was embroidered with gold thread down the front of the skirt and around the hips to look like a belt, and half of the dress's sleeve, which ended a good inch or two above her elbow's bend. See-through trumpet sleeves of violet cloth were sewn into the short sleeves to add a touch more finesse and clothe her arms when appropriate, but they would spill and billow around her elbows as soon as she held her arm in front of her to reveal more her smooth, ivory skin. The dress had no train, but the bottom swallowed her feet and spilled around her like a dark-purple puddle.

In her ebony hair was a simple crown of wild orange-blossoms, as was wedding tradition. Her hair itself was done in a simple braid, with several different little wild flowers woven in to go with her "crown", and held in place by two simple, golden bands. She had been allowed to keep her festive headband as a wedding gift from Uther, and as much as she hated to wear it for that reason, it was something she could wear to symbolize where she came from. Besides, it went nicely with the white veil.

Her makeup was simple, crimson lipstick and very little blush on her cheeks to keep it simple but still bring out her face.

She wasn't ready for this, she truly wasn't.

The only reason Uther ever got her to agree was that this is what her father would have wanted. Better, as she would be a queen, of possibly two kingdoms. However, it was also on the condition that she would get to visit Camelot _at least _twice a year, so long as she remained in Tir-Mor for the first year of the marriage to ensure the war was well and truly over.

"It will be alright, Morgana." Gwen said, trying to ease her friend and lady's obvious discomfort. "I'm sure King Brendan will be a good husband; we have heard much great talk of him. Besides, at least he isn't ten years older than you, or some other crazy difference…and Lady Morgana *****Fionn does have a very appealing ring to it."

Morgana only gave a hum in reply.

She hated this, she hated being a pawn, but Morgana _knew _it could have been worse, somehow.

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><p>AN: I know, I have other stories, but this idea came to me and wouldn't leave me alone. When I decided; "Alright, I'll make a half-baked outline, just to see if it's worth anything." It…well, took off. You know, this fandom has a tone of "Mergana" "Argana" and even "Morwen" stories, but no Morgana/OC stories. So, here's to firsts!

With that note, here are some footnotes (those *****'s);

**(1): **The name I've given the "Unidentified King 2" from the peace talks in 2x10 is Cedric, meaning "battle cheiftan". Tir-Mor is actually Irish for "Big Land", but both of the kings looked more British, so I decided he married into the throne. Why King 2? So he could die of peaceful old age instead of in battle or assassination.

**(2): **Brendan is a Gaelic (Medieval Irish) or Celtic name, and it can mean "Brave" "Prince" or "Sword" It's traditionally spelled "Breánden" in Gaelic, but the accent makes the "a" silent, so I saw little point in including it if it didn't change anything. Plus, this spelling could be a compromise from his parents; an Irish name with British spelling.

**(3): **Thárros is the Greek word for "Strength" Since most of the kingdoms have Greek-derived names I decided to keep the tradition.

**(4): **Fionn, meaning "white and fair", is the male version of the name Fianna, which is the Irish word for "deer". Since the national animal of Ireland is a Stag (red deer) and Tir-Mor is an Irish place's namesake, I figured Fionn would be a fitting surname, and their family Crest is a white buck.

Just an FYI: I imagine Tir-Mor and Thárros are those two pieces on the very bottom of Britain (see the Albion map on the wiki) that look like they mirror each other (same size and shape, left piece and right piece respectively).

Anyway, please review, and I hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Wedding Bells Ring (Part II)

Disclaimer: Merlin isn't mine.

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><p>They were interrupted by an excited knocking on the door.<p>

"Enter." Morgana's voice was hollow, even to her own ears.

The door swung open to reveal a laughing knight and a smiling Sophia. The knight—tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin, and a handsome face that lit up with his laughter—carried a small box in his gloved hands. He wore simple armor underneath a billowing, white cloak lined with royal blue on the shoulders. Sophia was a short, petite woman with fiery red hair that fell in bouncy curls past her shoulders, a few freckles dotting the cheeks of her simplistically-pretty face. She wore a simple, white dress, and on the crook of her arm was a moderately-sized, woven basket. They both faced her with bright, knowing grins.

"My lady, you are truly lovelier than Sophia has said." The knight swept a bow before speaking in a deep, smooth voice.

Sophia swatted him on the arm with a scowl. "Col, she's the future-queen! No flirting!"

The knight merely laughed, offering Morgana the small box. "I am Sir Collin, Your Highness. His Majesty has imparted me to deliver this to you. He says that he is sorry; this arrangement was not of his making, but he wishes you welcome with open arms all the same. He hopes you will accept this as a token of affection and goodwill, my lady."

Morgana daintily accepted the gift, clearing her throat. "Thank you…I…it is an honor to meet you, Sir Collin." Here, she flashes a small, friendly smile. "Please inform His Majesty that I do not blame him, and that I hope we may get along well, despite the circumstances."

Collin smiled brightly, nodding. Morgana turned to the box in her hands, carefully lifting the lid. Her eyes widen, and she carefully lifts out a necklace on a golden chain; an emerald stone bordered by diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and amethyst stones and set in simple but shining gold. The order for the encircling stones went; clear, red, clear, purple, clear, blue, repeating three times to wrap fully around the emerald with how small they were.

It was the most beautiful, ornate piece of jewelry, besides a crown, that she'd ever seen.

"Oh my god…"

"What is it?" Morgana snapped out of her stupor, turning to see Sophia starring at her with wide eyes, her hands covering her mouth.

Sophia seemed to realize she spoke, for she quickly collected herself and shook her head, hands falling to her sides. "No, nothing…" She shakes her head again, forcing a smile. "Will you wear it? It goes with your eyes and outfit perfectly."

Morgana looks at the necklace, then back to her, and then at Gwen, who nods softly, encouragingly. Morgana looks to Sophia with a soft smile. "I will. I'm sure Brendan will be happy to know I appreciate such a lovely gift."

With a bright grin, Sophia moves behind her, taking the liberty to put it on her soon-to-be sister-in-law herself.

Sir Collin clears his throat, gaining the attention of all three women. "With all due respect, my ladies, the war meeting is ending. We had best proceed to the Great Hall before the wedding begins without the bride."

"Oh, yes, we probably should." Sophia pipes up.

Morgana throws a fearing look to Gwen who simply reaches forward and squeezes Morgana's arm gently in reassurance.

_I'll be waiting when you get back; don't worry. _Her eyes say.

Relief floods the soon-to-be queen, even as she barely registers Sophia shoving a small bouquet of white flowers into her hands and Collin taking point as the three of them leave Gwen behind.

_This is truly it. _Morgana thought, her heart thudding as more knights joined Collin to form a small, protective cluster of men around her and Sophia. _There really is no going back now._

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><p>The Great Hall had many fine tapestries and other artworks decorating the walls, a vast difference from what she was used too. Several tall windows poured streaming sunlight into the hall, and there were two potted plants on either side of each window which extended its fruit or flower to any curious hall-goers that wanted a sample. A bench was considerately placed underneath every two.<p>

Sophia had already broken away to slip in the back way and join the wedding audience before the ceremony. The knights had spread out so as not to overcrowd but still be able to protect her. She took Collin's offered arm as the two stood by the large doors leading to where the wedding was to take place.

As trumpet-music began to play from inside, the doors slowly swung open, and before her was her future.

The throne room looked like every she'd ever seen, but with three differences; a large, lit chandelier which stood out among the room with few windows, the huge sea of faces that packed nearly every inch of the room, and the wide strip of new, thick, red carpet leading from the doors to the raised thrones only yards ahead of her, the only space open.

As the knights began to march ahead of her, four on either side, Collin led her down the aisle at a steady pace, face blank, shoulders set. Morgana kept her eyes straight ahead, anxiously waiting for the first true look at her husband.

The royal archbishop who would conduct the ceremony, dressed in robes of blue and white and a little bit of gold, stood between the two, empty thrones. Collin released her only a few steps in front of the stairs, and it was only that which stopped her from standing there, gawking like an idiot. She carefully proceeded up the steps, letting the bishop take her hand and guide her to his left side.

She couldn't believe it. _This _was Brendan Fionn? This was the man who had led his people as regnant for the past three years, before finally formally succeeding the throne six months ago with his elderly father's passing?

Uther had said that he was close to her age, but she did not expect to be the _older _partner. He looked at least two years younger than her.

He smiled very gently at her from under a boyish tousle of neat, sandy-blonde hair that reached his shoulders, the kind that got darker with age. His solid brown eyes were warm, and his hair blended well with the simple crown on his head, which surprisingly resembled Uther's crown, but in shape only, for it was of a much brighter gold and left undecorated except for the diamonds that wrap around it. He had a square face, but his features were not quite as defined as Arthur's, hidden by the tiny bit of fat still there from youth that he would lose in his later-maturing years. He was her height, perhaps a shave taller, and his shoulders were broad, but his clothes made his muscularity hard to tell.

He wore a lace shirt, which flared out and billowed around his wrists, underneath a dark-brown, short-sleeved, leather jerkin, black trousers, and light-brown, simple riding boots. A dark-blue cape lined with thick, soft-looking fur hung from his shoulders and brushed the floor. If it were not for his cape and crown, he looked as though he could have just come in from a walk on the street.

But…there was no mistaking the aura she felt. The kind of bearing that gives an immediate impression of powerful and charismatic innocence, the kind of innocence that inspires people. Even while relaxed he seemed aware of his surroundings, standing tall but not quiet at attention. Perhaps, just maybe, she could believe that he had _some_ experience. After all, he was a part of a world she had been immersed in but never truly was a part of herself, not until now. Still…it seemed surreal, if not stretched.

She sees his eyes, very briefly, flicker down, and his smile grows bigger, eyes becoming brighter.

_He must be happy I wore the necklace._ She thinks, and smiles a small smile at him, an appreciative, soft smile, for the first time.

He actually _flushes_.

"My lords," The bishop begins the ceremony, his voice deep like Collin's, but rumbling like a thunderstorm. "Ladies and gentlemen of Tir-Mor, we are gathered here today to celebrate the ancient rite of hand-fasting with the union of King Brendan Fionn and Lady Morgana of Camelot. My lord, Brendan, is it your solemn wish to be one with this woman?"

"It is." The spark in the king's eyes changed, looking at Morgana with a look she couldn't read as he opened his mouth to answer. His voice is smooth, clear, and confident as it echoes through the room.

"My lord, will you love and honor Morgana as your wife, giving her your trust and being faithful to her above all others? Will you promise to cherish her in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for rich or for poorer, until you are separated by death and reunited in Heaven?"

"I solemnly swear so to do." Brendan says, surprising Morgana as he not only goes a bit off script, but continues. "I hereby promise before God to treat her as every great woman deserves, and I pray he strikes me down if ever I should break that promise, as I know my mother surely would."

There is a rumble of quiet but genuine laughter from the crowd. Morgana fights to keep her jaw from dropping as she feels her cheeks flame.

The bishop spares a laugh before turning to her. "My lady Morgana, is it your solemn wish to be one with this man?"

"…I-It is…" She answers shakily, eyes still wide with disbelief. Brendan's eyes flash with concern, his mouth becoming a neutral line.

"My lady, will you love and honor Brendan as your husband, giving him your trust and being faithful to him above all others? Will you promise to cherish him in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for rich or for poorer, until you are separated by death and reunited in Heaven?"

"I will." She says with more backbone as she gathers her courage, regarding him with a serious look in her eyes.

Brendan's smile returns, but not as it was.

The bishop's attention turns to those gathered. "Are there any who say nay?" The entire crowd remains silent. "All those gathered here are of witness to this union, and in accordance to this rite, I declare you married. My lord, you may kiss your wife."

Morgana sees rather than hears him blow out a steadying breath. Slowly, Brendan takes the three steps towards her that eliminates almost all space between them, reaches forward, very gingerly takes the veil between his fingers, and peels it up and away from her face. It is only then that she notices his hands shaking just ever so slightly. She sees the bob of his Adams-apple as he swallows, she sees the strands of hair brushing is forehead and hanging loosely above his dark, deep, brown eyes, and then closes her own eyes, waiting.

His kiss is really little more than a peck, perhaps three seconds, but his lips were warm and soft and gentle. Morgana had to bite her cheek to stop from smiling, lest she laugh. He was so_ shy_.

When Morgana opens her eyes, he has taken a step back, looking at her nervously as he slowly offers his hand as though he can't think of what to do next. Morgana does smile this time, taking his hand and letting him turn her with him as they face the crowd. There is a burst of applause and ear-splitting whistles and cheers, the noise swelling around them like a wave, threatening to swallow them under.

Hand-in-hand rather than arm-in-arm, they walk down the aisle with knights flanking them on both sides, but that doesn't Brendan waving to everyone as they pass, brimming with nervous cheer. It was only as an afterthought that Morgana threw her bouquet into the crowd, sending women cheering and scrambling to catch it for good luck.

They walk out the door and into their wedding night.

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><p>The banquet hall was what she expected, large and full of nothing but tables and chairs and pre-set dinner places with a stage for musicians to provide musical accompaniment. However, when they arrive, the six or so knights that had guarded them dispersed, blending into the already impressive line-up of knights against one wall. Most of them are older than Morgana and Brendan, combined or by a few years, some of them the same age as both of the couple.<p>

To Morgana's surprise, Sir Collin steps forward and stops before them on bended knee. Morgana stares blankly, but Brendan smiles.

"Your Majesty, I, Sir Collin hereby pledge my loyalty to you, and swear that I shall protect your life with my own."

Morgana's brow furrows. _Your Majesty? Why would they be pledging themselves to Brendan again—?_

She looks to him, mouth partially agape, and sees him smiling softly, encouragingly, at her.

She realizes. _Oh. But…I am not queen yet…_

"Queen is simply a title." Her husband speaks up, seeing her confusion. "Besides, I thought it would help you if we simply got as much formality out of the way as quickly as possible. I know you must not exactly be comfortable here yet, so…" He trails off, looking sheepish.

Morgana manages a small smile. "I…see. Thank you…that is very thoughtful."

He gives her a small grin.

And so it goes. Before the banquet, over twenty knights pledge their loyalty to the woman that is their queen in all but title, Morgana returning the favor at the end with a warm, sincere, thank-you for their welcome.

Brendan leads her to the head of the table at the heart of the room, being a gentleman as he pulls her chair out for her with a bow and gently pushes her in before taking his own seat. Shortly, the guests and servants begin spilling into the hall, and Morgana's eyes light up as she spots Gwen, waving her over. The maid's eyes widen as she spots her mistress's new husband, looking him up and down before gathering herself and mustering a demure curtsey.

"M-My lord, it is a great honor to meet you."

To both her and Morgana's surprise, Brendan laughs softly. "No need to be so formal…"

"Ah, Guinevere…my name's Guinevere, but my friends call me Gwen."

"Ah, you're Gwen, then," He smiles warmly, resting his cheek on a fist. "My sister has told me of you. Please relax. I may be the king, but that does not make me any less human than you, and certainly no better, either. And, please, allow me to express my gratitude at your immense care and loyalty expressed to my bride. If I could have so loyal a friend that would travel with me, with no questions asked, to completely begin anew…well, I would be a most lucky man indeed. So, thank you."

Gwen and Morgana share a look of gaping mouths, completely taken aback. "…I…beg pardon, my lord…?"

Brendan raises an eyebrow. "What sort of royalty do you have in Camelot?"

"Pompous prats," Morgana answers, still blinking, dumbfounded.

Brendan looks at her, copying her and blinking, smile frozen on his face. Within seconds, he has burst out laughing, hands moving to his stomach as he throws his head back. His laughter is rich and bubbling, touchable and warm. After only a moment, he calms down, wiping a tear at the corner of his eye, and his face flushed with a healthy glow, his smile as bright as Morgana has seen all night.

"My, I had certainly heard Uther was…prudish, but he must be worse than words can tell."

"Oh, you would not _believe_." Morgana shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

"Really?"

"I guarantee."

"Try me."

"Well—"

"Ah, one moment—Gwen," The maid looks at him as if waiting for an order. "Take a seat. There isn't any reason to stand on ceremony. The food should begin being served soon."

Gwen, for the second time in minutes, looks shell-shocked. "Are you…certain, my lord?"

Brendan actually rolls his eyes. "Please, it's Brendan, or Bren, if you prefer. No more of this 'my lord' business, alright? And, yes, I'm positive. You did not come here to work; you are Morgana's cherished friend, and nothing more in my eyes. Besides, the servants all eat with us after they set the food on the table, and we really serve ourselves, so there is nothing to do even if that weren't the case, which it is."

Gwen, dumbly, takes a seat across from Morgana.

"Much better," Brendan smiles. "Now where were—?"

"Your Majesty," Brendan's attention immediately snaps up as one of the knights, Morgana recognizes him as Sir Bores, comes trotting to his side. "There has been a development on the border-front. You must speak with the council immediately."

The king immediately stands up, his face grave, and for a moment, Morgana wonders if he's somehow a completely different person, even the air around him has changed, to one of a scarily serene calm and something she cannot place.

"Lead the way." He quickly looks back, his face softening apologetically as he looks at the girl's. "I'm sorry. Perhaps we will be able to speak another time." He says to Morgana. "It was wonderful to meet you, Gwen. Please, I hope both of you enjoy yourselves. If there's anything you need, simply ask one of the ladies or the knights."

With that, he's gone in a swirl of cape and brisk strides, all laxness gone from his movements, but not grace. Morgana watches him go, brows furrowed in worry and disappointment.

Gwen, once again sensing her turmoil, reaches across the table to lay her hand on Morgana's own. "I'm sure it will be alright. And he seems better than anything either of us could have imagined. Can you believe how nice he is? I think you've been very lucky, my lady."

"I know," Morgana answers, tearing her gaze from the door he exited to look at her. "I just should have expected this; they _are_ in the middle of a war…but…I was just hoping I would be able to speak with him. I hate that I hardly know my husband. It is, without doubt, the worst aspect of a political marriage."

Gwen smiles softly. "I agree, but I am sure there will be ample an opportunity to get to know him. You will not be complete strangers forever, my lady."

Morgana simply nods.

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><p>The food had been amazing, even for Morgana's taste. Many people had come and spoken to her, wishing her well and welcome. She had offered her hand to so many and shook hands with so many that she feared her arm would fall off. Even she and Gwen barely got to talk with all of the interruptions, and she had reclined so many offers to dance that she never wanted to hear the word dancing again.<p>

Brendan had not made a single reappearance during the banquet, and his absence caused hardly a ripple in the atmosphere. The only ones who seem as affected as she was were Sophia and Collin. They took many an opportunity to keep her and Gwen company once they realized she was being too overwhelmed with visitors.

The only good thing about the evening was that she'd learned a bit more about her husband, but all of secondhand accounts. She also learned about the country, and Sir Collin, who, as it turns out was peasant-born, and Brendan's and Sophia's childhood friend.

Now, it seemed, the feast had past in a blur. Gwen and Sophia had both escorted her to her chambers and had just finished helping her out of her dress and into a nightgown, undoing her hair and washing off her makeup.

"Goodnight, my lady."

"Goodnight, Gwen." Morgana hugs her and then hugs Sophia.

Sophia hugs her tightly. "Goodnight, Morgana. Sleep well."

"You too, Sophia, thank you for being so kind to me this past week. I cannot thank you enough."

"Nonsense," The other girl waves her hand as if swatting a fly. "We're sisters, after all. It's my job to look out for you when Bren's busy."

At the mention of her husband, Morgana feels worry and guilt grip her heart briefly once more, but she masks it well. The other two women leave and Morgana is alone, wondering if she should wait for Brendan or simply turn in.

After quite a few moments of debate, Morgana finally decides to crawl under the covers, but the door opens softly, causing her to sit up in surprise and alert.

"Uh, hi…" For a moment, Morgana doesn't know what to do, but the sound of Brendan's voice causes her to sigh in relief as he shuts the door quietly behind him.

"Something the matter?" Morgana looks him over. He wears a dark-blue robe over a plain sleeping tunic and sleeping pants. She's surprised that she didn't recognize him without the crown, considering how surprised she was by his wedding attire in the first place.

"Oh, well," The nickname makes him smile and relax some, but she can plainly see the nervousness dancing in his eyes, the shyness in his lopsided smile. "It's just…ah, people…might…talk if we aren't—I mean not that I—well…It's…"

"You mean that you have to sleep here tonight, otherwise people will know for sure that we didn't…consummate."

He flushes a deep red. "Yeah…th-that…but…we…well, we don't have to…if you don't want."

Morgana looked away for a moment. Honestly, no, she didn't want to sleep with him, not until she knew him better, but, on the other hand, they couldn't put it off for very long. No, not when considering that an heir was the entire reason it was an inter-alliance _marriage_, and the only reason _she_ was sitting here in particular was Uther's army.

She looked back to him, shoving her feelings aside. After all, she'd been waiting all night for this night to be about more than her. "What about you? What do you want to do?"

"Me?" He looks as taken aback as Gwen and Morgana felt when he told them their servant policies, and Morgana feels a stab of pity, wondering how often he was asked what he wanted. "Well, I was hoping we could talk before…" He gestured absently with his hands. "You know…that. After all, we didn't get a chance to talk, hardly, and I'd really like to keep my wedding vow."

Morgana smiles, feeling her cheeks warm as she remembers his improvisation during the ceremony. "Alright, why don't we each ask a question, then?"

He nods, moving without needing to be told to sit beside her, fresh eagerness in his eyes. "Okay, why don't you start?"

"Well…" There were many she wanted to ask, but instead, she went with the first that popped into her mind. "Why did you say what you said during the wedding? That you went out of protocol was surprising on its own, but…"

"Ah, pulling out the big ones already? Hmm, well, the truth is because I meant it. I wanted you to know I'm serious about this, even if it wasn't my choice to have an alliance like this."

Morgana's brow furrowed at that "Wait, what do you mean? Sir Collin said something similar in your message before the wedding as well, and I understand you're in a precarious time, but—"

He scratches the back of his neck. "Well, there's that, but I mean literally not my decision. I was on the front lines when the committee I left in charge got the brilliant idea to start writing to the other four of the Five Kingdoms, trying to count all of their chickens, I suppose. I was furious when I came home and found out they'd done it, but there was no stopping it by then. Still, that would be no means to be rude or unkind to you. Besides, I knew I would likely have to marry for political reasons instead of love, just not as soon as I sat on the throne."

Morgana looked down, absorbing the information. Uther never informed her that it was the council that sent the letter. She catches the light winking off of the diamonds of her necklace, and she lifts the pendant up with a faint smile on her lips.

"I see. Is that why you gave me this as an apology?"

"…Oh, that? Sort of."

Morgana looked up and sees confliction in his dark eyes, trained on the gems around her throat. "What is it?"

"Nothing really." He sighed. "It's my mother's; the wedding present my father gave to her…" A wistful smile crosses his face. "The other reason I gave it to you was because Mother told me that I would have to give it to the woman I love on the day we married."

"The…woman you…love?" Morgana's eyes went wide.

"Of course—err, well, forgive me; I don't mean to sound presumptuous. I just don't plan to marry again…and, while right now, my highest aim is simply to befriend and get to know you I…I do hope…that…you and I…could be that happy together. I do hope…we could grow to love one another. After all, that was the amazing thing about my parents to me. My mother was forty when she married my sixty-three-year-old father, and though at first theirs started as a loveless marriage of disgust because of their immense age-difference, by the time my mother died, it was my father she wanted by her side in her final moments."

Morgana stared at him in disbelief and awe. "Well then, perhaps the…same for us is not impossible." She finally said, giving an awkward, brief smile.

His eyes alight with delight. "I do hope…You like the necklace, don't you? I see you are still wearing it."

The raven-haired beauty nodded quickly, a blush spreading on her cheeks. "Yes, I like it very much. It's beautiful beyond words…and, now I know, extremely thoughtful…"

He blushed as well, scratching the back of his head as he turned his gaze away in embarrassment. "Ah, well, you are most welcome…my lady."

It was clear the address was experimental on his tongue, but Morgana smiled all the same. "Yes,"

"Oh, uh, right, my turn…uh…Okay, so, what was it like growing up with Uther as a guardian?"

"Hard to say, really; I came to him when I was a mere ten-years-old following my father's death. My mother died in childbirth, so it was only my father and I. Then…he was simply gone. I don't know what would have happened to me had Uther not taken me in, but, even though he did it out of friendship with my father, I still hated him for it. I was in a strange place, all alone, and told that it was my home from now on.

I had Arthur to play with, but he was, as I had said earlier, an absolute prat, so I was miserable almost my entire first year. It was then that Gwen came to me. I latched onto the fact that she was a girl close to my own age to talk to, who had things in common with me, and we became great friends very quickly, and have been since. The only reason I even allowed her to come with me was because she has no ties to Camelot after her father's death last year, otherwise, I'd have come alone."

He was looking at her so intently with such an unreadable expression that she blushed again. "Well, I am very glad you did not…I would hate for Tir-Mor to be as bad as Camelot first was to you. Now, why don't you tell me more about this Arthur? I have heard his father is very disciplining."

"You have heard right. Let's see…Arthur. Again, there is not much to tell. He was an absolutely rude, scrawny boy when I first came to Camelot, and he always made me cry because I was 'just some girlie-girl.' I would always beat him up in sword-practice to make him pay for it, but it still hurt my feelings."

"Really?" Brendan interrupts her to laugh, and it seems to be contagious before she gathers herself to continue.

"Yes, but he did eventually get better, once I saw the reason why he acted the way he did was because of Uther. The man wouldn't let the boy even _smile_ if he were present. So, I started to feel bad and began reaching out to him more, although I was still angry that his rudeness never went away as we grew, even if I already knew it was his way to express himself. After all, Uther taught him everybody below him was only fit to lick his feet, and that discrimination is okay when someone is 'inherently evil' like a sorcerer.

Eventually, we came to be as close as you and Sophia, even though I was simply Uther's ward, and Arthur has come to me time and time again when he needed advice, and often stood in my defense against Uther. He actually tried to stop our marriage by offering his hand to Sophia instead, but that was redundant. He was even more furious when he was told he could not only be forbidden to come with me as a chaperone, but that I wasn't to come back for at least an entire year. He stayed by my side every waking moment during my final week in Camelot, and actually kissed my cheek goodbye after he hugged me like I would die."

Brendan looks at her with a tinge of guilt in his eyes. "Well, then, I suppose it's time I give you my second wedding gift."

Morgana looked at him, eyebrows arched as he reaches into the inner-pocket of his robe. "Second present?"

He simply produced something from the depths of his pocket and takes her hand carefully in his own, curling her fingers around something small and waxy. She took her hand back and opened her fist to reveal a wax-made seal, the profile of a white buck starring back at her. She looked back to him, a question in her eyes.

"It's enchanted, so no one but the person you're thinking of as you seal a letter with it can open it. You can send a letter to whomever you like during the year, until I can send you back for a visit personally. I hope I can as soon as possible, but will this do in the meantime?"

"Enchanted?"

He saw the fear in her eyes and immediately raised his hands in defense. "I'm not a sorcerer, my mother dabbled, but she didn't have a natural gift, and I've never even seen her magic books. She made more like it, so I won't miss it."

Morgana breathed a sigh of relief. "So your mother was like Gaius."

"Gaius…you wouldn't happen to mean _the _Gaius?"

Morgana smiled. "He's truly renowned as Camelot's former-Court Wizard and permanent court physician. He never had a gift, but he practiced to be very prominent before Uther put up the ban."

"I see. Well, my mother dabbled, but she was not very good. She could do a small few things, outside of healing minor injuries, which was her specialty, but even that was very limited."

"Ah," She looked at the wax seal and smiles brilliantly. "Thank you. I will be sure to use it with care."

He shared her smile. "I'm glad."

"So, how old are you?" Morgana asks after a momentary lapse in silence. "I know Uther said you would be close to my age, but…I never expected…"

"That I would be so young?" He finishes. She nods. "I just celebrated my seventeenth birthday last month."

Morgana's smile shattered as her jaw dropped, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. "Really?"

He nods. "Well, I am actually underage according to the kingdom's laws, but the council saw fit to make my case the exception."

"Underage? What are the laws?"

"Well…to be married, both parties must be eighteen years of age, which is when the firstborn of a family is named heir apparent, but not yet adult. Then, if one was not an apprentice for at least seven years to a full knight in the royal family's service, they could not be a knight until they reached age twenty, at which every citizen is considered fully-adult and are also permitted to drink. And both men and women are capable of being knights, whether of noble or common blood." He says, closing his eyes as if reciting from memory. He opens them and looks at her, still gaping. "And, pray tell, how old might you be?"

Morgana gives him a half-hearted glare behind a warning smile. "It is not polite to ask a woman her age."

"Ah—" He stiffens. "My apologies; I-I didn't mean—"

Morgana simply chuckles into her hand. "At ease, I did not mean to startle you, my lord." She says around her laughter. "I am twenty."

He _pouted _at her. "It is impolite to tease, my lady."

She only laughed harder at the childish expression, prompting him to join her. They stay like that for awhile; talking and laughing with each other and learning from one and other. What started as an offer of attendance to the council meeting tomorrow turned into an added lesson in battle-planning. What was, at first, a later-date sparring match, turned into a riding trip and a picnic afterwards at his next moment of free time, and a hunting trip was added to the list for a bit farther down the road.

Morgana would have loved for it to have continued on like that, but eventually the question of questions was asked, the silence growing more awkward before, "So…about…consummating…"

The lady's smile shattered like glass, her eyes clouding with worry. "Yes?"

"Well, we don't have to…tonight. We can take as much times as we need…but, do you think, at all, maybe?"

Morgana sighed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "That depends."

"On?"

"How well can you lie? Or, bluff, as I should say."

"Ooh~" He blows out a steadying breathe. "Good point. Well…" He's cut off as Morgana reaches up, turning his face so that he stares into her grey-green eyes.

"If that's the case, perhaps we should stop talking."

With that, Morgana kisses him, her lips only a gentle pressure on his. Unfortunately, he took that as a chance to quickly break away, eyes wide with panic.

"Wait! Please…I-I don't want you to force yourself…I…I don't want to…rape you…Not on our wedding night."

Morgana looks at him as his words sink in, and gives him a warm smile, genuinely touched, but slowly shakes her head. "It's not rape. True, I had prepared myself for it to be…but you are _nothing _like I expected you to be, and that helps. Yes, it may be obligatory, but that doesn't change how I feel."

"And," He swallowed painfully. "How do you feel?"

"That I might actually enjoy it, now," Slowly, she runs her thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone, watching with satisfaction as the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders. "Does that not count for something?"

"I…s-suppose it…does. So…?"

"No, I do not want to, but I'm willing to try…It's for the best, regardless."

"Are you…Are you certain?"

There was a tinge of fear in her voice, but determination in her eyes. "I'm…positive, Bren…Please, just promise me you'll be gentle…"

"I…" His words caught in his throat, leaving him only the ability to nod in reply.

Morgana chuckles, low in her throat. He really was…cute—if she had to describe it—definitely not what she'd expected. Then again, it seemed her new husband was only full of surprises.


	3. Long Live the Queen

Disclaimer: BBC and Shine own all rights to Merlin.

* * *

><p>Morgana woke to the familiar sounds of Gwen shaking her as the early-dawn's rays provided a cool, grey lighting to the room through the curtains. She briefly wondered where Brendan was, but then remembered he had slipped out awhile earlier, in her half-wakefulness. Gwen helped her dress and gave her lady her breakfast, but both of them could not deny the slowness of Morgana's movement, or her momentary winces when she tried to do otherwise. As Morgana walked to the door after having her hair and makeup done, donning the newest addition to her jewelry collection as well, Gwen could keep quiet no longer as she saw her mistress and friend walk with a small limp to the door.<p>

"Morgana, you seem rather sore...Was everything alright during the night?"

The lady flushed in embarrassment. "Everything was fine."

"Are you sure? I don't mean to pry, but I—"

"Gwen," Morgana chuckled, rolling her eyes as she turned to face her friend. "I know; you're worried. He didn't purposely hurt me, Gwen. I knew I would be sore, yes, but believe me, I'm as surprised as you."

Gwen still looked skeptical, her eyes flashing with sincere apology as she says her next words. "So he did not…force himself on you, my lady?"

This time, Morgana throws her head back in laughter, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. "Force himself?! If anything, he did the _opposite_!" She manages between crackling.

"Really?" Gwen's eyes are as wide as the grin she can't bite back, finding her mistress's laughter somewhat infectious.

"Oh, absolutely! _Nothing _went without my initiating it!" Morgana shook her head, wiping away her tears. Her smile grew somewhat wistful. "In truth…he was really very sweet. As exasperating as it grew, I know he was only trying to please me."

"But…then…?" Gwen struggled with her words, her own cheeks beginning to glow with embarrassment.

Morgana shook her head. "He knew enough to make sure I was absolutely ready…but…after that, I think he lost his focus." She gave a half-laugh half-sigh. "Well, you can't expect a man to do everything right, I suppose."

"That is perhaps the single truest statement any of us can make in our lifetime." Gwen rolled her eyes, her mind flashing to a blonde-haired prince. "Now, if only we could prove it to Arthur."

Morgana rolled her eyes as well. "Good luck with that endeavor. I gave up on it years ago, but I can still settle for reminding him that he's as human as the rest of us."

Gwen smirked. "Maybe he should meet His Majesty. I am sure they would get along more famously than us."

Morgana's eyes lit up with glee as she laughs. "Oh my, yes! Why I can just see it now! Arthur's look of horror when he hears that he must serve himself food, because the servants are eating with the guests; priceless!"

They both share a laugh. "Yes, I'm certain King Brendan could teach Arthur some humility."

"Oh Brendan would put Arthur to shame. The prat would never be able to live it down."

"He does seem like quiet a nice man." It was Gwen's turn to smile wistfully. "I am happy for you, and that you seem to have found such fortune in this bleak-looking event, my lady."

"I agree. Brendan is nothing like I'd imagined. If only I could break him of his shell."

"Shell?"

Morgana frowned, remembering last night. "Yes, when I first told him I was willing to have sex despite not particularly wanting it, he almost had a heart attack and started babbling that he wouldn't rape me."

Gwen's eyes went wide. "Rape you?!"

Morgana nodded. "Yes, but, now we have made it over that particular obstacle, and I wonder if he will still be so refraining with me. I mean, you should have been there to see our wedding kiss, if you can even call it that!"

"So he is shy." Gwen deduced, her face softening in both sympathy and understanding. "But, my lady, you must remember that he is young."

"Believe me Gwen, I know that." Gwen raised an eyebrow, so Morgana filled her in on Tir-Mor's law of age, and Brendan's view on the marriage to go with it.

"What?!"

"It is true. He is forcefully in a marriage while underage by the standards of his own country, but will that stop him from making the best of it, instead of being as outraged as I am that his own people would do this to him? No." She crossed her arms with a huff.

"Well…" Gwen searches for something to positively reflect the outlook of her lady on the outlook of the king. "At least he is optimistic and honest."

Morgana winced. "Yes…optimistic…"

"Morgana?"

"Besides, I paid him back for it. Last night, I mean." She quickly continued, turning around and forcing a smile.

Gwen blinked, looking unwilling to drop the previous topic but also curios. "…How so?"

Her lady's grin widens slightly. "Well…let's just say…"

* * *

><p>"Your back has seen better days, my lord." Brendan's servant noted with wide, disbelieving eyes as he watched his master dress while he stripped the king's bed to clean and change the sheets for the week.<p>

The back of Brendan's neck burned. "…Yes…thank you, Graham."

"What happened?"

"Uh…" The king winced as the fabric of his shirt rubbed against the fresh scratches. His shoulder particularly hurt, even if he'd already had Ian dress the shallow bite-wound, and the bandage stuck out under his shirt. He sighed. "Bertram came in last night and saw Morgana…He got excited and I was in the way."

Graham's uproarious laughter could be heard behind him. "Maybe the big guy wanted to join in on the fun, eh? I would have if I were him! Right boy?"

The giant, brown and white St. Bernard still curled up next to the dead hearth didn't bat an eye, giving a low sort of hum. Around his neck was a plain collar with a gleaming, silver license the size of a medal, which simply bore the Crest of Fionn. He had been Brendan's personal bodyguard and best, non-human, friend since his fourth birthday, a gift from his mother.

"And just what does _that _mean, Graham?"

"Uh…I-I…That—w-well…I just mean that…Bertram appreciates the queen's immense beauty." Graham gave a toothy grin, chuckling nervously. He was, after all, only a year older than the king.

Brendan rolled his eyes, chuckling with his goofy friend. "Yeah, you're probably right." He gave a two-note whistle, and the dog immediately lumbered up and padded to the king's side where he received an affectionate ear-scratch. "Hey bud, wanna go out with me and the queen later? You can keep us company on the picnic."

He received a short, deep bark as reply, the dog's tongue lolling out of his mouth and his tail wagging just a little, the only signs of excitement. At thirteen-years-old, Brendan knew his friend would not have many more years left, perhaps three or four at best. However, that didn't mean that Bertram couldn't outrun a horse or play like a puppy still, which is what made the lie so easy to tell.

"Well," Slipping on a dark-brown jacket that fell mid-thigh over his dark-blue shirt, which not only hid the bulge of his shoulder but matched his pants, Brendan grabbed his crown and turned toward the door. "I should probably go see if my lady is ready for the meeting."

* * *

><p>"Well, now," Morgana walked and chatted with Gwen, both trying to carefully navigate the still-unfamiliar halls, when a voice stopped them both. She looked up to see Brendan approaching her with a soft smile. "Good morning, my lady."<p>

Morgana grinned, lifting one brow. "Good morning, my lord. Come to rescue your poor queen from these long and confusing halls?"

Brendan snorted. "The basic mapping is the same as any other castle, so I'm sure you are more than capable of finding your way while left to your own devices. However," He smiles, placing his hand on his heart and sweeping off his crown with a graceful bow. "It would be most rude of me to have invited you someplace and then not come to escort you, like any proper gentleman."

Morgana couldn't quiet fight a genuinely pleased smile. "I see."

Brendan straightens, replaces his crown on his head, and crosses the distance between them in the matter of a few, short strides, holding his hand out. "Shall we, then?"

"Gwen," Morgana turns back to look at her servant. "I think I can give you until the afternoon off."

The maid curtseys, throwing an appreciative smile at them both. "I will be certain to arrive in time to help you prepare for your crowning, my lady."

With that, the royal couple proceeds in the direction the king had come, hand in hand. Morgana made a point of memorizing every turn and any landmark that could be used to further her mental map of the place. She had not spent that much time in the castle in the week before the wedding, what with Sophia insisting on familiarizing her sister more with the town. Before long, they arrive in the Great Hall, and Morgana is surprised when they arrive at the familiar doors of the throne room.

"The council will meet here, my lord?"

Brendan looks at her, curiosity shinning in his eyes. "Yes, I prefer not to have separate rooms designated for meeting with the several different branches of the council. After all, matters of state and matters of government are all connected."

Morgana's eyebrows arched. "Well, I suppose that is true."

"Something wrong, Morgana?"

His bride smiles at him. "No, I simply did not expect you to be so efficient. What do you do if you must meet with one branch right after the other?"

"Well, actually, I have reduced the normal numbers of the council-members, so that every branch can fit into one, still rather large, committee, designated as the Royal Congress. There are five political delegators, three tax chief tax collectors, six members of my advisory, and then there are the six representatives and current heads of Tir-Mor's noble Houses."

Morgana's jaw dropped. "But who handles the writing and appealing of law proposals, the business transactions for allies, reports of enemy movements and harvest numbers, who is in charge of seeing to the audiences with the people and filed written complaints? How can you do all of this with only twenty members of a council? And you only have six noble Houses? "

Brendan laughs. "The bulk of the more mundane in-state business that would normally be under the jurisdiction of the Small Council is handled by the kingdom's Houses, since they own claims to the land as much as the royal family."

"The nobles, you mean they don't simply pay taxes and fill seats at formal events and meetings?"

Brendan laughs. "Of course; this compensates the fact that they have fewer taxes to pay, since my family is already wealthy and respected as a monarchy due to our longstanding ties with other, younger kingdoms. We are, after all, one of the oldest ruling families in the land. The men of my family tend to live particularly long lives."

"Yes, I knew that much…but…"

Brendan sees the dazed look in her eyes and bites his lip, feeling a stab of guilt. "I'm sorry, I should have explained this sooner…Uh…you don't have to come if you don't want to now…and I promise; I'll find time to tell you—"

"No, I'm fine."

"A—huh?"

"I said I'm fine." Morgana averted her gaze, trying to hide her blush. "I know enough about political warfare from living with my father and Uther. It's just a bit different than I expected. I knew there would be differences between Tir-Mor and Camelot, but not such as this.'

His eyes softened. "Are you sure…I would hate for you to not be a part of the discussion—"

Morgana blinked at that, and then slowly smiled, her blush intensifying a bit. "Then you shan't be disappointed; I plan to be. After all, I am going to be queen before the day is out."

"Al…right…" It was Brendan's turn to blink. Before he can stop himself, he smiles a prideful, breathless smile, an amazed huff escaping his lips. "I…I'm very glad." He shakes head and moves to push open the door. "Uh—Come, we should be seated before everyone arrives."

Morgana looked around, fascinated at such the drastic change. The room was incredibly large without the sea of people from her wedding, however, even factoring that, it was at least double the size of Uther's throne room. And at the very heart of the room, the largest table Morgana had ever seen, polished so brightly that it absorbed the sun's rays that had barely begun to graze it and still cast an ethereal glow.

"Incredible…" She heard herself breathe.

"It is." She looks up in time to see Brendan walk before her. He stops, then, a foot between him and the table as he spreads his arms in a gesture of grandeur. "Queen Morgana, welcome…to the Round Table."

"The what?"

Brendan smiled softly. "This is my family's greatest heirloom. Starting with the first Fionn, Breándan Fionn, over four-hundred years ago, every single generation has added onto the table, whether it has been an additional carving or adding to its size. Although, it's most famous for the fact that at least five places are changed within every new reign. My family actually settled only a very small territory in Ireland, but after the fall of the Roman Empire, our ignoble ancestors settled here to assist the Britons, and eventually rose to power and established our own kingdom."

"Ireland…Hold on a moment you say five places are changed, but why are their only twenty members of your council and at least twice as many seats?"

Brendan shook his head, his hair brushing his shoulders as it swayed with the movement. "That's a long story. Perhaps you would like to take a seat, my lady, and I shall tell it to you while we wait?"

Morgana obliges, but is surprised when he leads her to the thrones, guiding her to sit in the left one. "Will we not sit with the council?"

"No; unfortunately, that's one thing my father insisted on when I took over and broached this idea to him so I could manage the matters of state easier." Brendan looked apologetic but also hurt, and she could tell, then, that it wasn't directed at her. "He said that, because I was so young, I could not allow myself to sit with those of currently-equal standing to myself, lest they take that as a sign of my trust that they could manipulate. I sit here so that they're reminded I am the one in charge…Unfortunately, or perhaps incidentally, it does not work when I am away, but I had no one else I could leave in charge…until now, that is."

Morgana smirked, catching the meaning of his words. "So their plan backfired on them, I see. I am…honored that you would trust me to look after things while you are away…Bren."

"Well, they won't get their power _completely_ taken away. That could cause unrest, but the really important decisions, like new laws and alliance-collaboration, will have to go through you. Which, that reminds me; I should introduce you to Hamish sometime soon. He's our chief researcher and record-keeper."

"I—"

Before more can be said, the throne room's doors are opened and begin flooding with people. Twenty finely dressed, older men in rich robes, half of a dozen bearing large emblems of House Crests, are the first to take seats at the table, and Morgana is right when she realizes that very nearly half of the table remains empty. However, her curiosity grows as a group of fully-armored knights enters as well, and Morgana recognizes all of them.

Sir Collin, Sir Bores, Sir Hubert, Sir Fergus, Sir Diarmuid, Sir Kay, Sir Finn, even the only two female knights Morgana had ever met, Sirs Merida and Eleanor. Finally, Sirs Bedivere, Pelinore, and Hector arrive; the last three knights alive from when his father's rule first began. They were awarded the title of Senior Knights on the High Council before the beginning of their service under Brendan. If she recalled correctly, Pelinore was the younger brother of King Cedric and Bedivere and Hector had both served under Brendan's grandfather, King MacCumhail, as young squires before swearing fealty to Cedric when he married into the family.

To her surprise, Sir Pelinore carried a crown on a red, gold-trimmed pillow. However, she didn't have time to ponder it, or why a rather large, brown and white dog came trotting in, as Brendan pulled her to her feet by their entwined hands.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Congress and Knights of the Round Table, I welcome you." Brendan's voice resounded throughout the room with practiced ease despite his rather soft tone. He gestured to her with a simple exaggeration of their held hands. "I would like to begin today's meeting by formally introducing my wife, and, after today, the Queen of Tir-Mor, the Lady Morgana Fionn."

Without his needing to say more, every man who had only just taken a seat rose and applauded. Morgana gave her best, dazzling smile and as best a curtsey as she could with one hand. Brendan held up his hand for silence, and though the Congress half of the table immediately moved to sit down, Brendan's next words stopped them halfway.

"My lady, I shall give the floor to you now should you wish to speak, and please feel free to do so at any other time as well, should you feel it necessary. Your contribution will be appreciated and always taken into consideration, as is everyone else's here."

"Thank you, my lord…" Morgana's eyebrows arched, but she quickly reigned in her surprise. Her husband certainly had a way of surprising her with his words, even if she should have expected it this time. She quickly turns her attention to those gathered and clears her throat.

"I will only say this; this place is not my home, but this is my new life, and I hope that both will be something I can grow to cherish, as I hope you will cherish me as your queen. I want nothing more than to live up to the faith you and my husband have placed in me by making the best decisions for the kingdom, and placing the needs of the people above myself."

"As are my own hopes, my lady. I pray your wise words rig true, and that we may bring peace to our kingdom." Brendan smiles delightedly, and Morgana wondered as he quickly kissed her hand if that is the kind of speech he himself made when he first took on this responsibility.

They both sat as the knights and nobles did. Brendan, of course, is the first to speak, signaling the meeting's initiation. "Now then, what is the report on Thárros's advancement?"

"Not well, my lord." Sir Bores stood slowly from his seat, a short but stout man with thick, curly, dark-brown hair and a mustache that reminded Morgana of a broom. "They are beginning to gain advancement into our territory, however, we believe that they are pushing more heavily on the sides, so as to try and cave in our forces. Thus, they are beginning to weaken within the center of their cavalry. If we send all of our current forces as a second and third-line defense, move the fresh crop courtesy of Camelot's stockade to the frontlines, and lead a hard-pressing assault with our best men, we should be able to easily break through that weakness and start demolishing the army from the outside in."

"Hmm…" Brendan leaned forward, one leg crossed over the other and an elbow on his knee as he rubbed his chin, eyes closed in thought. He didn't speak or move for what felt like a long moment, and the room fell into a deathly quiet.

"Just a moment," It was Morgana to break the silence, causing all eyes, even Brendan's to turn to her. "That is a logically-sound strategy on parchment, Sir Bores, but what of the consequences?"

Everyone looked to a rather stunned-looking Sir Bores for a rebuttal. "And what consequences might you imagine, my lady, could come to fruition if this plan is carried out?"

"If we use the weakened men to form our defense-layers, while only sending a small number of forces into the heart of the enemy army, even if the strongest, the enemy could do one of two things, or even both. The enemy will send what forces remain to surround and destroy us while some may also press the defenses. With exhausted men, they may have an easier time gaining more ground into the kingdom. Meanwhile, our strong men would be unable to stop them while still trying to fight their way out of the enemy's heart.

That, in turn, would hurt us greatly. As not only would we be pushed farther back into our own territory, but the advancement would likely raid the outlying villages, further dwindling supplies we may need to fuel the defenses in the first place. Not only could that be so, but who is to say they are not gaining more fresh, or that we have seen all of their army to begin with?"

A murmur runs through the table, and all of the knight's nod or exchange heatedly-serious looks. On the other side the Congress folds in on itself, with only a few heads turning toward her for the briefest of moments.

"The queen is right." Finally, Brendan's voice cuts through the quiet commotion. "Not only on her points regarding the strategy itself, either; who is to say that our enemies or their allies did not intercept our letters to the Five Kingdoms when they were dispatched? After all, I am the only one capable of altering or utilizing the wax-seals my mother left behind, and I was away."

"But, Your Majesty—" Someone from the Congress rises, but a wave of Brendan's hand silences him.

"Besides all that, we must protect the people, not simply win the war. I will not destroy my kingdom in the process of protecting it, which is why I also wish to avoid resorting to slaughter of the enemy, as we have discussed, Sir Bores. The civilians that remain will only despise us once conquest and re-integration is complete, should such a thing occur, for they were once our own. We must conquer without humiliation or destruction, so they will willingly be so once more."

_Amazing,_ Morgana thinks. _He knew all along what he wanted, and yet he let me speak so freely. Uther would have stopped me as soon as I said the strategy was an inappropriate course of action and gone on himself… _

He turns to Morgana, then, complete trust in his eyes and a prideful smile tugging at his lips. "What do you suggest, my queen?"

"I…" Morgana blinks, and then looks between him and the Round Table. "I think…that we should lead a flank assault with the new regimen of men from Camelot. If they have intercepted our letters, what Sir Bores has suggested will most likely be the course that they assume you to take, and they will soon properly adjust their forces in preparation for a frontal assault.

Therefore, we should try as much as we can to keep the current soldiers refueled so that they can keep a proper defense, and send all the men we can to provide extra support in that regard. Meanwhile, we split Camelot's cavalry in half and lead a flanking of one-hundred from both sides."

Brendan nods with a hum of either surprise or approval. "A splendid idea; if we can get enough men past their army with such an approach, then we will have plenty to properly lay siege to Thárros's capital. Hopefully, this can end with as little plundering and civilian casualties as possible, and Marcus will surrender."

"But, Sire," The congressman from before speaks out once more."What if it is not as the Lady Morgana says? After all, there is no way to know for certain if Thárros or their allies have intercepted the proposals."

"Even so, Lord Magnus, I would still prefer to avoid Sir Bores' suggested plan of action. It will cost too many lives for certain, and we risk losing a great amount which we cannot afford, even on chance of success. Sir Collin,"

The dark-haired knight rises, seeming so much more morose and serious in the meeting than the flirtatious, jovial knight Morgana had spoken to at her wedding-reception feast. "Sire,"

"You are my best man when it comes to flanking, I trust you to make the final call."

Collin nods. "Based on the maps and most recent reports, I believe we have the advantage of relative camouflage if we go around the border through the dense forests. We would have to cross the more rocky terrain on foot, but we could loot their camps if we keep relative enough distance. And, once over the border, we could launch an ambush on the thinner second line of defense as they try to condense the center of their ranks. Overall, it's less messy, less risky, more advantageous, and more favorable. Not to mention that those currently received are not the only soldiers Camelot could send."

Brendan nods, once. "Very well, take your pick of the one-hundred while I lead the rest. We will need to map out an exact course, of course, and take stock, but—"

"Your Majesty, this is outrageous!" Lord Magnus's bellow, as well as the agreeing chorus of a few others, rings out, leaving the room stone-cold silent. "You would so willingly trust the words of your _wife_ to the words of your elite and most loyal friends and brothers-in-arms, those who even your revered father trusted so completely?!"

"Oh really—?!" Morgana goes to protest, prepared to rise from the throne, but a quick squeeze of her husband's hand, which she forgot she was still clasping, stopped her.

Brendan's face doesn't change in the slightest, voice completely even, nearly monotonous. "What are you talking about, Magnus? Firstly, I have trusted Sir Collin's opinion as well as Morgana's. Secondly, why should I not give her the same trust that I give each and every one of you?"

"My lord, are you truly asking such an obvious question on the grounds of expecting a serious answer?"

"You will answer your king, Lord Magnus." Brendan replied, straightening in his throne. "Do you or do you not believe that I should give my wife fair treatment as I do all of my other equals?"

"Equals? King Brendan, how can you consider a woman you hardly know to be your equal?" Another man, thin as a stick with long, grey hair kept in a low ponytail stands with the disbelieving Magnus.

"A woman I hardly know?" Brendan repeats as he rests his cheek on his curled fist, his voice showing the amusement that the twitching of his lips can only belie. "I am intrigued by your choice of words, Lord Avery."

"My—"

"Let me ask you this, all of you…If not my equal, what do you expect a queen to be to her king?"

Silence again reigns before three more men, all at least in their fifties, stand with the other two. "Sire," One man, whom reminds Morgana of Gaius with his raised brow, speaks. "We agreed on the prospects of an inter-alliance marriage…because you, the sole child and proclaimed heir of the late King Cedric, must perform the duty of every son to his family."

"As I am aware, Lord Oscar. What is your point?"

"This is ridiculous!" It is Sir Hector to speak, a man of average height and build with sterling-silver hair and a thick, smoky-grey beard. "A queen is not just a piece of arm-candy to a king! All of you congressman are bloody mad if you think any airhead is truly fit to bear the mantle of a king's equal, as a queen should be according simply to her title! Or, are you all saying that the late Queen Grainné was nothing but a figure-head and that King Cedric did not truly treat her as an equal?"

"Sir Hector speaks the truth!' Now it is Sir Collin to speak out. "Certainly, the new queen may not be Queen Grainné, but we should rejoice that she is trying to be a remarkable queen of her own right!"

"Yes, exactly!" Every one of the twelve knights cries in agreement.

"As if this common noblewoman could compare to the late queen, you blokes!" Lord Magnus's face is going red with the intensity of his screams. "We know nothing of her, and we should not try to! The only queens fit to govern us alongside a king are true-blooded Tir-Mor ladies! She is an outsider, here because Daddy has more than enough soldiers to guard his money! All her worth to the kingdom aside from that is in her womb. Once an heir is produced, we should expect nothing more from her! _That_ was the purpose of our alliance proposal to the Five Kingdoms, and—"

"Morgana!" They all look over at their king's startled cry, but Morgana can take no more. Ripping her hand from Brendan's grasp, she storms out of the throne room as briskly as she can with as much dignity she can muster, trying to ignore the tears stinging her eyes. "Wait, Morgan—!"

The slamming of the throne room doors is his only answer.

"Damn it!" Brendan is on his feet instantly.

"Sire—!"

He stops only to shoot a glare at the entire table that gets across the message he doesn't have time to say; this discussion is not over. Without a word, Brendan snatches the crown from off of the pillow set in front of his uncle, setting out to find his wife.


	4. Law & Order

Disclaimer: Merlin isn't mine. Happy holidays, everyone!

* * *

><p>He reached her doors and pounded, getting a startled Gwen to answer. "My lord—"<p>

"I need to talk to Morgana."

Gwen only blinked in bewilderment. "…The lady is still out, Sire."

"Damn! I thought for sure she would come straight here."

"Why is she not with you? Did something happen?"

He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as he saw how much he'd worried her. "Uh, yeah, you could…say that. Look, do you know where she goes when she's upset? A general idea, at least?"

"She…she likes to look outside when something is bothering her. You could try a balcony, or perhaps the gardens—"

"Great, thanks Gwen; you're a lifesaver!"

"W-Wait! My lord?!" Gwen reached out to stop him, alarmed, but he was already off and running.

_Okay…first, I'll check the gardens, and if she isn't there, I can at least pick up some flowers. Flowers always helped with Mom when Dad or I was in trouble. _He thinks.

"Bren!" He stopped in his tracks as a hand yanks him back by the collar, only to come face to face with his best friend in the alcove of the hallway.

"Not now, Col! I have to find my wife to fix the mess those blowhards made!"

"I know." Collin rolled his eyes before beaming his king a grin. "That is why I'm going to help you!"

"No."

"What? Why not? Don't you want help?"

"I can't have help! I have to find her myself!"

"Why?"

"Because, idiot, how will it look if one of my knights finds her before I do? She'll think I don't care that she was just talked down to in such a way. She'll assume I sent you to find her and stayed behind or something! I don't need more trouble than I'm already in!"

"Oh…you have a good point…" He brightened suddenly. "Okay, then I'll see where she is and just tell you so that way you can talk to her yourself!"

"Idiot, what if she sees or hears you? Even if you don't say anything, she knows you're supposed to be in the meeting right now. Which, by the way, why aren't you?"

"I may or may not have broken Lord Magnus's nose…Sir Pelinore made everyone leave afterwards and summoned for Ian." Collin said, with the straightest face imaginable.

Brendan buried his face in his palms and groaned "Collin!"

"Don't tell me that you didn't feel like doing the same!"

"Of course I did, but that doesn't mean I'd _do _it!"

The knight manages a shrug. "You're the king."

"That isn't the point, you bloody loggerhead! You _know_ that there's enough tension amongst the Congress as it is, so _why_ would you add more?!"

Collin squared his shoulders. "I was defending my queen's honor, Your Majesty. I apologize if I acted rashly, but Lord Magnus's impudent remarks could not go unpunished—"

"I appreciate your upholding of the oath sworn to your newly-avowed queen, Sir Knight," The king grounded out through clenched teeth. "But it was not right to do so in such a manner, as it was not your place to freely punish Lord Magnus. I will be speaking with the entire Congress later. Postponement of our departure should be plenty enough punishment for the lot of them, don't you agree?"

Collin's frown drooped further. "That is a dangerous move, my lord."

Brendan grinned. "Well, then they had best learn their lesson rather quickly. The faster that they all apologize, and mean it, then the faster we move out." He frowned. "Speaking of, I have a mission. So, you'll have to excuse me."

"Hey! Bren!" Unfortunately, the king didn't stop, despite his knight's calls, and left his friend alone in the hall.

* * *

><p>"You know how much I hate lying, Morgana." Gwen glared at her lady, who was glaring at the canopy of her bed fit to burn a hole through it. "He's currently out searching for you like a madman, so I doubt that the king could have personally done something that would upset you this much. What happened?"<p>

"It wasn't Bren." Morgana replied shortly, futilely wiping at the tears that would not fall, yet refused to stop stinging her eyes.

Her maid refrained from the urge to roll her eyes. "So who was it?"

Morgana simply rolled over so that her back was to Gwen and buried her face in her pillow.

* * *

><p>"Okay, either I keep missing her by a hare's breath, or she is incredibly good at camouflage." Brendan sighed, dragging his feet.<p>

It had been two hours. He'd checked every square inch of the gardens, the balconies, the hallways of the balconies, and even gone back to her room once, but his wife was still nowhere to be found. Finally, he was returning to her room for the third time, with one last ditch effort in his hands.

He slipped the note in the personally-picked bouquet of purple tulips, the center consisting of a red and white rose in the sea of purple. Leaving the flowers at the foot of the door, he knocked once and turned away.

Brendan had to force his legs to keep moving, like led weights attached to his hips, as he returned to the throne room. He'd called a meeting twenty minutes ago, and, thankfully, everyone was gathered. Collin sat between Pelinore and Bedivere, his head bowed so as to avoid the vulture-like stares of everyone from the Congress. Lord Magnus had his entire nose hidden by a huge, white bandage, both of his eyes beginning to bruise.

"I am disappointed in all of you." The king stopped, facing the entire table as he rested his hands flatly on the surface. Every man and woman looked quite uncomfortable, but kept their eyes trained dutifully on him as the words hung in stretching silence.

"…My—" His uncle began, but a single glance from the corner of his eye silenced the old man.

Brendan sighed. "I call you my brothers and my sisters, and I give your opinions thought above all else when it comes to every single battle, because I know that you and I fight, on the same field, for the same goals, and to protect the same people. We all share a passion to do what is best for the kingdom my father left behind, the place every one of us and our families calls home. That is what unites us, what makes us strong and gives everyone who cannot fight alongside us the security and hope of protection. That is what makes them believe that, even when we are the best we have ever been here; it can still go beyond the limitless sky to get better tomorrow.

We accept each other for that reason as well, trusting each other with our own lives. We share a bond, one which succeeds even blood. I understand it is difficult to take such a cherished treasure as that and give it so freely. However, have we all not done exactly so before, time and time again? So, I ask you, my friends, my comrades…my brothers and sisters, why can you not do so now?"

"She is not one of us, my lord." Magnus says simply, piercing the seemingly-endless silence with his grumble.

"And was my father one of you in the beginning? Was every queen and king of the reign following my ancestor's rule one of you?"

"For every male ruler, as far back as the records date, the queen has always been one of our own noblewomen, whether or not it was the bride or groom who came from the royal family."

"I see…but, Lord Magnus, who was it that sent the inter-alliance marriage proposals to the Five Kingdoms?"

"The delegation committee, my lord."

"I see. Yourself being one of them, yes?"

"Y-Yes…Your Majesty."

"So you complain about keeping tradition when it was you yourself who has helped in breaking it, Magnus?"

"It was a vital action for the course of the war, Sire. We had no other option."

"So you have told me, yet this 'vital action' transpired without my knowledge, let alone my consent."

"Then, are you saying that you are unhappy with your current wife as well, my lord?" Lord Avery stood, his face a blank mask.

Brendan's lips curled into a strained, close-lipped smile. "Morgana is more than I could have asked for. I trust her far more than I currently trust the delegation for their thoughtless conniving behind my back."

All of the members of Congress's delegation gasp, Magnus banging his fists on the Round Table's surface harshly. "M-My king, you—!"

"Silence!" His demand was immediately met. "You bring her here to be my queen, believing such a decision to be vital, yet you squander her opinion. I will not have it; do you understand? I hold all of you in high regard, and I expect the same of you for my wife _and_ myself."

"But—!"

"Did you ever think that her upbringing may have given her some militia or political insight? Do you know anything of her besides the fact that she was the ward of Uther Pendragon before she came here? No, and yet you so quickly cast her off as nothing more than a means for an heir! That is not just an insult to my queen, a crime which I could easily detain you for, but an insult to all women! Do you think that Sirs Eleanor and Merida are only good for rearing children?"

A chorus of 'No, my lord' is his answer.

"I would hope not." He replied dryly. "Lords Magnus, Avery, Lain, Oscar, and Vale," The six members of Delegation stand, all looking nervous behind their stony expressions. "You are all hereby detained from further participation in activities of Congress for an indefinite amount of time, minimally two months."

"What?! King Brendan, my lord, you can't—!"

"I am the king. No matter how much power each of you has, my word is final, the absolute law. Unless you wish to challenge what is mine by birthright and the honor of my family, I suggest you take your leave."

Five of the six all nod rapidly, swiftly turning on their heels, but Lord Magnus remains gapping at the king. "Your Majesty…"

He goes ignored. "Sirs Hector, Pelinore, and Bedivere,"

"My king—"

"Sire," The three Senior Knights rise and bow their heads in acknowledgment.

"You three are appointed as the new members of Delegation effective immediately, and will be henceforth pulled from the ranks of battle to remain and act as secondary state-heads in my absence."

"Yes, Your Highness." All three boom back.

"We will be postponing the scheduled immediate deployment. We leave instead in two days, at dawn. Sir Collin, come with me to begin mapping our route. Any questions?"

"No, sir!"

"What have you learned?"

"The queen is your equal and one of us."

Brendan nods once. "Dismissed. Collin, help me escort Lord Magnus out."

* * *

><p>Morgana sat, starring at the note in her hands and looking between the paper and the freshly planted flowers in their vase that sat before her on her bureau.<p>

_Red & white for unity, purple for a queen._

_If you still agree to the picnic with me, I guarantee your plate will be clean._

_Bren, _

The lady shook her head. He could still surprise her, and she was beginning to suspect that it was one of his permanent quirks.

"Are you going to accept, my lady?" Gwen asked, watching from the corner of her eye as she went over to Morgana's chiffarobe and opened the doors, already absently scanning her lady's dresses.

"Of course…I see no reason not to; he is my husband, after all." She answered absently, finally putting the note down with a sigh.

Gwen looked at her with both curiosity and worry. "I thought that you said it would surely be a grand time this morning."

"What does my opinion matter to anyone?" She spat bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest with a scowl.

"Morgana," Gwen placed her hands on her hips. "It isn't like you to sulk. Will you please tell me what the matter is?"

"Nothing should be the matter for me; I'm here to give birth to a baby and nothing more, according to the noblemen. After that, I should be content to be a useless woman, spending my days simply floating about the castle once both the current and future-rulers no longer need me."

The dark-skinned maid raised an eyebrow. "And what of His Majesty's opinion? Surely he cannot think the same as the nobles of his court."

Morgana deflated a bit at that, eyeing the flowers again as she reaches out to touch the delicate petals of one. "Bren? No. In fact, he values me more than Uther ever did in contributing to his court."

"Then what does anyone else's opinion matter?"

"If I truly wish to be a good queen, I need the support of the king, the people, _and _the nobles."

Gwen pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "So what will you do?"

Morgana scowled at her reflection in the bureau's mirror. "Convince them to think differently, for one…It's just a bit of a blow that they, the entire reason I was brought here, have so little interest in my potential. Though, I certainly will not stand for it."

Gwen smiled hearing that. "Good, but, in the meantime, I believe you have a date to prepare for. What would you like to wear?"

_A date… _Morgana frowned, getting up to browse her wardrobe with her maid. _I wonder what Brendan has done besides look for me._

* * *

><p><em>Plink<em>

Morgana looked up with a frown from her book, looking around her otherwise empty room for a sound she could swore she'd just imagined.

_Plink_

Blinking, the lady cautiously turned her head to look out of her window. Her mouth opened, but no words came out as she looked at the courtyard below. The king had one hand waving higher than a signal-flag as he stood between two saddled stallions…or at least, she _hoped _that was the king; who else would be trying to get her attention to show her two horses?

_He never did specify a time for the picnic, but it is close to noon. _She thought, marking her place as she waved back and got up to leave the window.

The sun shone brightly despite the shroud of oncoming, grey, April-rain-bringing clouds. Brendan hadn't changed his clothes, though his crown was missing and his brownish-blonde hair was swept back in a messy ponytail from his face. He looked at her with a bright grin, taking the horses by their reigns in both hands and turning them with him to face her. One was a beautiful Thoroughbred with a rich, chocolate coat, eyes that matched her husband's, and a gleaming, midnight-black mane of hair. The second was a pure-black Friesian horse, his eyes brooding like thunderstorms.

"Good afternoon, my lady. How are you this beautiful day?"

"I'm wondering why my husband is throwing stones at my window when a simple knock on my door would have sufficed." Morgana raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She wore a light-green, baggy tunic tucked into black trousers, a grey scarf, and plain riding boots, her raven curls kept back in a simple braid.

He tilted his head with a simple shrug. "Because…I can't bring horses into the castle?"

She nodded. "Fair enough."

He tugs lightly at the reigns of the Friesian, bringing it two steps forward, and holds them out to her. "This is Bucephalus, one of the elite of the kingdom's newest batch of war horses. He's two years old and recently passed with flying colors in every combative test, but he has a rather…unappealing temperament, and no rider."

"Unappealing temperament?"

"He…only lets me ride him. Anyone else, he bites, bucks, or tramples, hence his name."

"Bucephalus…you mean after the horse of Alexander the Great?" He nodded. "And you think I can handle him?"

His eyes shifted to the side. "Well…you both are beautiful, proud, and at least tolerant of me…Look at it like that and you're fraternal, inter-species twins."

Morgana spared a bemused half-smile, taking a step forward and reaching out to take the reins and gently scratch the black horse behind the ears, all while she looked him square in those stormy eyes with her most serious stare. The horse simply stared back, ears twitching as she continued to administer her affection. He stamped his right-front hoof in an unsteady rhythm on the cobblestones of the courtyard before, without warning, extending his neck, putting them muzzle to nose as his long, pink tongue shot out to lick her face.

"Oh-Oh my…! W-What…what is he doing?!" Her neck bent at a painful angle as she tried to wiggle away from the…horse-kisses which were quickly coating her face with slobber and warm, musty horse-breath, her eyes screwed shut in disgust.

Brendan's boisterous laughter filled her ears. "See, I told you he'd like you!"

"It…isn't…funny! Call him off!" She stumbled back, but the horse advanced for every step she retreated, whinnying, as if in disapproval of her actions, before continuing his assault.

"I don't know…"

"Brendan!"

He simply laughed again. "What perfume are you wearing?"

"Horse-kisses…and thoughts of…murdering kings…"

"Alright, alright…" He whistles one high, long note, and Morgana can feel the horse as he stiffens to stand at attention beside her. The next thing she knows, she's slapped by a rather smarting horse's tail as she hears the clip-clop of Bucephalus' retreating hooves. "Better?"

"Slightly," She answered, sputtering in an attempt to rid her mouth of any hair, her head still jarred to the side.

He fails to hide a chuckle behind a cough. "Uh…sorry…but from an outside perspective, it was funny." His answer is a glare, causing to hold up his hands in defense, smiling innocently. "So…picnic?"

"Indeed…" Morgana stepped around to Bucephalus' side, half-lifting a leg in preparation to mount the rather large steed's saddle when a searing knife stabs her in her inner-thigh. She doubled-over, hissing in pain.

"Morgana?!" Brendan's eyebrows shot up, his smile falling off of his face for a concerned frown. Before she could even think to open her mouth, he was there, gingerly steering her around by the shoulders before crouching to get a look at her pain-twisted face. "Are you alright? What's wrong? Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"I'm fine…just—"

"You are most certainly not fine!"

"I'm _sore_, Bren…It's not life-threatening…" She straightens up enough to shoot him a warning look.

"Sore?" He parrots, his face muddled in confusion. "Sore…? Sore from—Oh!"

Morgana nodded, managing a small, ironic smile despite the warming of her cheeks as she managed to finally straighten back up. "Yes…that."

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Oh…Oh God! I'm—I'm so…_so _sorry! I-I—I didn't mean to…"

"Bren,"

But she goes ignored as his hands reach up to run through his hair. "I can't believe I _hurt _you…! Oh my god, I…I—"

"Brendan!" He stops, giving his exasperated wife his guilt-riddled attention. "I am perfectly fine; this is just a natural…side-effect of our…activity." Her brow furrows as a thought occurs to her. "Wait…you didn't…?"

"No! I didn't…I mean, no one…ever…explained how…I-I read…books and…Th-This is…natural…? I-I haven't…I mean…wounded you…permanently?"

"No," Morgana felt a twinge of both pity and anger, giving him her best gentle smile as she shook her head. "This only happens the first time, I promise."

"Y-You're sure?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "_Yes_, I'm certain!"

His shoulder's squared as his lips twitched into a relieved smile, only for it to shatter with uncertainty. He finally settled for a small nod. "Good…then…I'm glad…I, err, I think…So…"

Morgana sighed, flipping her braid back over her shoulder. "It will have subsided within a day or two."

He grins, sighing. "Good…that's great."

His smile suddenly slips again and she frowns. "What now?"

Before she can blink, her feet are swept out from under her and an arm is slid under her neck and around her shoulders. She's lifted off of the ground with a startled gasp, suddenly cradled in her husband's arms—like, well, a bride—and against his chest as she stares into his deep, steeled, brown eyes. She recognizes the look in his eyes from the night before, right before he disappeared from the banquet. That, more than anything, made her heart pound in her chest.

"What…are you doing?" She breathed.

"You can't ride if you can't even mount your horse." He stops her from protesting with a rising of his eyebrows. "War can hold us both, and I can hold you and steer. Or, you can ride side-saddle behind me, and I can either tie Bucephalus' reigns with War's so he comes with us or have him taken back to the stables."

Morgana glares, opening her mouth to protest. He shifts her weight in his arms, causing her to shriek and throw her arms around his neck, her eyes wide. "Don't _dare _to drop me, Brendan!"

His brow furrowed. "What? What's the matter?"

"I hope you know what you're doing; that is the matter!"

"My lady," Brendan smiles a sudden smirk of understanding. "It would be an honor if you would allow me to treat you like the queen you are. Relax."

With that, she's held with only one arm as he grabs the top of the Thoroughbred's saddle and hoists them both up. Settling her on his lap, Brendan holds her in his arms and takes the horse's reigns in his hands, hollering to the nearest person to take Bucephalus back to the stables.

It seemed she wasn't getting a choice after all. The thought alone was enough to put a scowl on her face. "Bren,"

"Hmm?"

"Let me sit behind you."

He grinned cheekily down at her. "Nope."

"Excuse m—"

"Morgana, there's something I haven't told you about me."

She blinked. "And what is that?"

"I like to pamper and fuss over my lady. Therefore, I can't have you scared every time I pick you up, especially since it will be happening frequently once we are having a child."

Her scowl changed to a scathing glare. "You wouldn't dare."

"Up stairs, to the kitchen, and on rides like this; yes."

"I am perfectly capable of walking!"

"Not when you grow tired in the later months of pregnancy, or when your back grows sore and your feet swell. Luckily for you, I am an excellent masseur." He quickly adds, seeing her half-thoughtful half-apprehensive look at the mention of swollen feet.

"Even so," Morgana cleared her throat. "I am not with child yet."

Something conflicted flashed into his eyes as his expression softened. "I know."

Morgana opens her mouth for a rebuttal, but barking interrupts her. What truly peaks her interest was when Brendan brightened, looking up with a grin. "What is that?"

"Bertram! About time, boy! Come on!"

More barking is heard in reply, and Morgana manages to look down, as Brendan lifts her to sit up, only to see the brown and white dog that had somehow managed to get into the throne room during the morning's meeting. Her eyes widened; up close, the dog proved to be huge, a St. Bernard if she saw correctly.

"Morgana, I'd like you to meet Bertram Fionn. He's our dog; the Captain of the royal family's hunting dog-team, the head of my personal guard, and now our chaperone. Bertram, the Lady Morgana, my wife, and your queen."

The dog gives two barks and a short half-moan half-howl before lumbering up on its hind legs and…dipping its head. Morgana blinked. Did a dog just _bow_ to her? First, over-affectionate, supposedly mean-spirited horses, and now, properly-educated canines. What was next, a tap-dancing sheep?

"Morgana," She looked up as Brendan tilted his head in the direction. "He's greeted you, my lady."

Was he serious? He could not be serious. He was treating the dog like a full-fledged person. Certainly, animals had feelings and minds of their own, and should be respected and loved, but to put them on the same level of treatment as a person?

"Ah…G-Good afternoon…Bertram…"

"Lord Bertram, my lady." Morgana looked at him, and he simply nodded, an excited smile on his lips.

She turned back, cleared her throat, and nodded. "Lord…Bertram…hello."

The dog barked, tongue lolling out of his mouth and tail wagging as he settled back on all fours. Morgana spared a smile.

"Well, then," Morgana gasps as Brendan lays her back settled between his arms, taking the reins and carefully tugging at them to get the horse to turn around. "We'd better get going."

With a sharp command from the king, the Thoroughbred is off in a sprinting gallop through the town.

Morgana didn't know what was more astounding; that she wasn't falling off the horse or that the dog was keeping up, even past the city gates.

* * *

><p>They galloped down the main road into the city, trees and sky all blurring with the thundering speed of Brendan's horse. They continued down the main road and took a side road that cut into a forest. After about twenty minutes, Brendan slowed down a bit and guided their steed down a narrow path.<p>

Soon a rivulet broke the path, and Brendan began backing up, leaning down to whisper in her ear once they were nearly thirty feet from the brook. "You might want to hold on tight."

Morgana didn't like the sound of that, but before she could ask why, Brendan urged his horse to a gallop and then pulled up with his reins just before the river. With a mighty leap, the Thoroughbred cleared over it as though he had wings. Morgana felt her stomach flipping over as they sailed through the air, a scream spilling from her mouth as leaves brushed her face and hair. She gripped Brendan for dear life and didn't dare look down.

Morgana grunted as the horse landed solidly on the ground, and Brendan laughed as he slowed him down to a canter. "Did that scare you, my lady?"

"No, I just screamed because my life flashing before my eyes was exhilarating." She flashed him a mock-cheerful grin.

The king had the grace to look sheepish as he laughed at the jab. "Sorry…Perhaps I could have, at least, made War jump a little lower."

The lady frowned at that. "Why?"

"Because," She jumped, feeling fingers gently brush her hair, but before she could ask what he was doing, Brendan was holding a leaf before her eyes, smiling softly. "I hate to sully such beautiful hair."

Morgana felt her cheeks get warm as her husband took his time to remove the leaves and petals from her hair, neither of them saying a word, even when Bertram rejoined them, sopping wet from the swim he had to take to still be able to keep up. She felt each gentle stroke of his fingers as they ran through and smoothed her hair, playing with the occasional stray lock while he went about his work. When he was done, they resumed their journey, and Morgana was torn between relief and confusion, though she was pleased upon realizing that Brendan had slowed their pace to a more acceptable running-speed. When they exited the forest, Morgana's jaw dropped.

An entire meadow of towering sunflowers whose pedals absorbed the sunlight to shine like soft gold was before them, dressed with what looked to be ankle-deep grass. The flowers themselves, she could already see, were taller than their horse.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Brendan breathed beside her, letting a contented sigh pass his lips. "Ah, memories…"

"Memories?"

Bertram barked excitedly, bounding past them and disappearing into the jungle of flowers. Brendan laughed. "Ha! Bert knows what I mean! Don't you, boy?"

"I take it you have been here before, then?" Morgana smiled as a flittering butterfly danced around her head, looking for a place to settle before deeming her harmless yet unsatisfactory and moving on.

"Well, yeah…but I haven't been here in a very long time. This was the place Bertram and I would spend many an afternoon of my boyhood. We stopped counting our visits before our first year together came to an end."

"I see." Morgana couldn't help but smile at the nostalgia in his voice as they both watched Bertram frolic without a care.

"However," Morgana gasped as Brendan held her against his chest, twisted his hips, and slid off of his horse with her in his arms in one smooth motion. Carefully, surprisingly, he set her on her feet, keeping one hand on her upper-back and had the other holding hers for balance. "This is not what I wanted to show you. Come."

Morgana actually laughed as he began pulling her along by the hand, ever the excited and child-like. "But what about the horse?"

He stopped, giving himself a light smack on the forehead with the heel of his free hand. "Of course!"

Turning back, he grabs the blanket, picnic basket, and small burlap bag attached to his horse's saddle. Settling the basket on the crook of his arm by the handle, pinning the rolled up blanket under his arm, and keeping hold of the bag with his free hand, Brendan smiled at her in silent thanks and took her hand again, setting off once more.

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he won't run off?"

"War? No; he's a trained war-horse. The best of his class, which is why I named him War…though, that also might have been because I was ten when I got him, still young, and as impressionable as I was then…"

Morgana, snorting, nodded. "That's certainly believable."

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny."

"You're the one that said it. I merely agreed." She smiled sweetly as he glanced back with a pout.

"I suppose…but if that's the case…" The next thing Morgana knew, he'd let go of her hand and taken off running. "Then, maybe you would _agree _to a race!"

Morgana stared. He was either kidding…or… She thought about it, and smiled.

_Bertram might be able to keep up with a horse, but what about _you_, Your Majesty? _Turning around, Morgana triumphantly walked back for War. _If it's a race you want, it's a race you'll get._

* * *

><p>"How did you manage to steer him side-saddle?" Brendan asked for the second time.<p>

Morgana threw her head back and laughed as she took a bite of her venison-sandwich. "A girl has her ways, my lord."

"Yes," He smiled, giving a small chuckle. "And a man as well, my lady."

She shrugged. "Well, I suppose." She finished her sandwich and picked up a clotted-cream-covered fairing, giving a hum of pleasure at the taste as she bit into the cinnamon cookie. "It really was very sweet of you to try and add a Cornish touch to my…second new home."

"My point exactly, and you are most welcome…my lady."

The couple sat with the picnic basket sandwiched between them, watching the crystal-clear waves of the lake lap upon the bank and shimmer with the reflection of the afternoon sun. Bertram's barking could be heard in the near-distance, the meadow and the lake separated by a thin line of trees and brush settled on a short but steep hill. The lunch menu comprised of venison, cheese-spread rolls, clotted-cream-covered fairings, and a mixed salad of chopped-up apples, berries, and nuts.

"Morgana," the king continued, breaking the comfortable silence as he gartered her attention. "If I told you I had a surprise for you, would you close your eyes?"

"That depends," She answered with a raised brow. "Is it the kind of surprise where I end up with new jewelry or something else?"

"Um…jewelry…but, why is something else a compromising option, exactly?"

"Because, something else could be anything from a surprise kiss to a surprise swim in that lovely lake over there." She said sweetly.

He gave her an incredulous stare. "I'm…going to guess Arthur for one-hundred gold coins."

"Congratulations, you are one-hundred gold pieces richer."

Bren clucked his tongue. "Well, in any case, please close your eyes; I've already half-spoiled it."

She does, and puts her hands over them for good measure, one over the other. She hears the crackling of wicker and the _swish-swish_ of the blanket's disturbance as Brendan moves the picnic basket, getting closer until their knees are brushing together. She feels something just barely touch her hair.

"By the sacred laws vested in me, I crown you, Morgana, Queen of Tir-Mor."

If Morgana was surprised by those soft-spoken words, it was overcome by a stunning from the feeling of a warm, fragile kiss upon her lips. Before she could stop herself, she was kissing him back, her hands falling limply to his shoulders.

Ten thudding heartbeats later, they move in unison to break away, Brendan's cheeks the shades of cherries and his smile wide. "Long live the queen."

Morgana opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and tried again, voice breathless. "I…lo—I…" She went silent, batting her lashes with every baffled blink.

"So…hunting?"

* * *

><p>Night was beginning to settle in as torchlight lit the halls. Collin looked rather uncomfortable as he walked in step next to the queen, dressed now in a deep, aqua-blue evening dress with no back, her hair done up in a pile of pinned-up curls atop her head with a golden clip, her crown notably absent and a scathing scowl notably present.<p>

Morgana, however, paid the knight little attention as they walked to the king's chambers, her earlier conversation with the Lady Sophia still fresh in her mind.

* * *

><p>"<em>He did what?!"<em>

_Sophia winced in sympathy, nodding. "Aye, he suspended Congress's delegation after the fiasco this morning."_

_Morgana made a sound between a gasp and a scoff, pacing with her fists at her sides as disbelief marred her features. "And here I thought he wanted to simply make the outing remarkably special… It was technically our first courtly-outing, and we are married; one would think that not so stretched a scenario, but no! Why would he do this?"_

"_Perhaps he—" Gwen began, exchanging a worried look with Sophia._

"_I don't want speculations! I want the truth, out of his mouth!" With that, the newly-minted queen stalked to the door and threw it open, only to reveal a surprised, dark-haired knight, his fist raised to knock. "Collin!"_

"_Err, m-my lady…" The knight looked rather unnerved, possibly sensing the tension settled in the room, though he pasted a smile on his face. "His Majesty has requested your presence in his chambers, an invitation to dinner for—"_

"_Wonderful, I was just on my way to look for Brendan. We have much to discuss." Morgana strode past him and kept walking after that clipped greeting._

"_Two…?" Collin looked at the other two women for answers. _

_Sophia merely shook her head. "Go. If only to protect Bren from her wrath."_

* * *

><p>Morgana burst through the doors that screamed royal chambers, burst through the antechamber door, and remained glued in the doorway, hands firmly on her hips. The room was aglow with soft, romantic candlelight. Brendan turned from the table, set romantically in front of the open balcony window to be set by a background of twinkling stars. He was dressed in all black, his shirt a v-neck that revealed just enough of his chest, and his hair was simply worn down, but still combed. Morgana didn't care.<p>

Brendan's smile slipped as his eyes saw her glare. "My—"

"I don't need to be protected and mollycoddled by you, Brendan." She said, voice dangerous and low as she strode forward until they were but a few inches apart, Morgana glaring into his eyes.

His brown eyes go so wide that Morgana can see the whites. "Y—I—Morgana—What?"

"Don't _dare _try to pretend you didn't do what you did to shield me! You can't just get rid of people when they don't agree with you!"

"Wha—No! I—No, no, no! I didn't—that wasn't because—!"

"It was!"

"It wasn't—I swear!"

"What was it, then?"

"I can't have them doubting _me_, Morgana! Against _me_! If I leave them in charge while I'm away—!"

"What? What would they do? Marry you off again?"

He throws up his hands, palms upturned at his shoulders. "Possibly, yes."

Morgana feels her anger doused by a bucket of ice-water. No. No, that couldn't…

"What…did you just say?"


	5. Truths of the Battlefield (Part I)

Disclaimer: BBC and Shine own all rights to Merlin

* * *

><p>Morgana felt her legs ache as the sun hung overhead, the clip-clop of Bucephalus' hooves now a forgetful background amongst the sea of white noise surrounding her as the knights and a small infantry squad of the army marched ever forward. There were sixty-four men overall, including herself and the king. The rest of Camelot's two-hundred men were split into two general divisions, and traveling a day behind them in divided groups along several different, but connected, routes. They would eventually gather back into two groups of one-hundred led by Brendan and Sir Collin, all according to the original plan of a double-flanking. Meanwhile, the extra one-hundred they had managed to gather for defense reinforcement were already arriving at the main battlefield to lead the false frontal-assault.<p>

Morgana herself was dressed in a combination of light mail and leather armor, a sword borrowed from the castle armory at her hip and her hair tied up in a messy but trouble-free bun. For the millionth time, with nothing to do, her mind wandered, and inevitably replayed the conversation that had landed her here, riding off to war.

* * *

><p>"<em>What did you say?" Morgana repeated, with eyes wide and throat dry.<em>

_Brendan sighed. "I could…get married again."_

"_But…we are—"_

"_My family has a legalized history of polygamy, and due to the laws surrounding it, it cannot be banned, simply ignored."_

_Morgana felt her knees begin to buckle, but Brendan had crossed the distance and taken her by the shoulders before she could blink. She found herself lowered to sit on the edge of his bed as he kneeled in front of her, eyes a strange hazel as the dancing shadows of candlelight flickered across them, though there was no mistaking the sincere apology and self-confliction in them. She felt a hand pick up and cradle her own limp and clammy one, giving a gentle squeeze._

"_I'm sorry; I didn't mean to—"_

"_So…you mean to tell me that you can have more than one wife?" Her voice was little more than a murmur._

"_That is _only _if I and my _first _wife agree to it, not to mention the candidate herself." Morgana simply raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue, and he sighed. "If I was to end up marrying a second or even a third woman, you and they would become full-fledged sisters in the eyes of law, therefore, you would all get a say. I, technically, do as well, but, well…you see how much my opinion matters to those old coots. So, really, it's your cal—" _

_Morgana wordlessly grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him forward until they are scarce centimeters apart as she glares into his wide, brown eyes. "Brendan," _

"_Um…Morgan—"_

"_I. Don't. Share." She hissed._

_He flinched. "O-Okay, then…I'm very…glad…"_

_She released him, still glaring. "Is there anything _else_ you wish to tell me, anything that would possibly compromise our future?"_

_The king sucked in a breath, his eyes shifting to the side, looking at anything but her. "Well…My wives can also take another husband and he would be considered my brother, I'm leaving for battle at dawn the day after tomorrow, and if we don't produce an heir by the end of the year, you may be petitioned to be set aside and the alliance between us and Camelot will be annulled…Did I mention I'm sorry?" _

_Morgana simply gaped at him. "So even after we've consummated the marriage, we don't get a choice about sex?"_

"_Um…unless you're already pregnant—Well, I mean, we _do_, but with a window…and, on the bright side, you only have to be _pregnant _by the year's end. Even if you lose the baby, they can't claim either of us incapable of reproduction, nor our union unconsummated."_

"_Are your people truly _that desperate _for an heir that they would set me aside after a _year_? What about the soldiers I am bringing with me that you also so desperately need?"_

"_That's…well…the reason they are waiting a year…"_

"_You _must _be jesting!" He slowly shook his head, giving her a pitying look. "How long…How long would they have waited…if the circumstances were otherwise?" She didn't want to know, but she had to, even as she began to feel closer and closer to fainting._

_He gulped audibly. "Four to six months…probably…"_

* * *

><p>That information was very unsettling. She had wound up walking out in a daze, Collin brining her half of the dinner Brendan had cooked despite how many times she had refused. If Brendan slept that night, it wasn't with her, and the king didn't speak to her until they'd set out yesterday morning, telling her she look beautiful and that he was sure she could take out the entire enemy army with a glare. She wanted to apologize, but she honestly could find not the words, nor what she needed to apologize for. She just knew <em>something <em>was wrong.

In truth, the only reason she was really accompanying the king and his troops was that the castle was well and truly defenseless with the great need for more men in this new strategy. Morgana would have much rather stayed behind with Gwen, but she was the queen.

"We will be breaking for a half-hour, men!" Word reached her ears, and Morgana was grateful. She immediately pulled her horse over as the others did, dismounting easily and ignoring the few men who moved to try and help her.

She looked for Bren, and found him amongst a small cluster of soldiers, going over battle tactics and strategy and the like. The lady simply shook her head. The leader never did sleep, it seemed. Not only did he look terrible, but he was getting barraged with questions. It was impressive he was still standing, much less keeping up with the conversation. She wondered, for not the first time, how he did it.

"I wish someone would realize how much he needs a break."

"His Majesty included." Morgana turned with the closest to a smile she could muster. "Hello, Sir Collin."

The knight nodded and smiled. "My lady, are you by chance interested in another friendly sparring match?"

"Not now, I'm afraid." The queen's smile broadened a bit. For the last two days, she had entertained herself by either listening to battle plans or sparring with the knights, but Collin was the only one truly wishing to fight her, even if he was holding back a bit, she would take what she could. "Perhaps, another time, though?"

The man simply nodded at her dismissal and moved away, and Morgana moved to join the group surrounding the king. Perhaps now, she might finally get a word with him.

"We will be reaching the field of battle by tomorrow's eve." Brendan was saying. "I'm sure you all know what to do."

"What is the place called, my lord? I have heard it is of great historical significance to both of the kingdoms." One soldier timidly speaks out.

"Yes," Brendan sighs wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking directly at the soldier. "Ft. Fianna was the founding point of our once-united lands; the location of the last battle that my ancestors won that awarded them this land. However, this was also the location that stood as both a physical and symbolic dividing line between us and Thárros. This is the place where we lost the fight against the Norse a little over a century ago, and lost half of our country as a result."

Morgana blinked. He was obviously being snappish because the soldier should have known the answer to that question, but she herself didn't know that. It was yet another reminder that she knew next to nothing about her new home, and it stung.

"Anymore questions?" The king's eyes swept over the crowd around him, and Morgana smirked.

Taking a step forward and raising her hand, the lady clears her throat. "Yes, my lord, would you care to take a rest yourself?" She smiles wider at the surprised look on his face when he looks at her. "Surely it will do no good if our leader is exhausted when he is expected to lead a refreshed cavalry."

"No…I suppose not." He proved her point by hiding a yawn behind his hand. "Alright, men, dismissed."

The group quickly dispersed, Brendan also turning to leave, but Morgana caught him by the arm. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"Oh…you know…around. I've got—"

"To relax; exactly my point, and, exactly why I'll be joining you, my lord."

"My lady," He closes his eyes as a smile slowly spreads on his lips. "I don't need—"

"Yes, you do. You obviously haven't slept, and therefore, cannot be trusted to keep your promise—"

"Promise?"

"So I will make sure you do."

With that, she dragged him to a shady tree to rest. She picked one within relative distance from the rest of the army, to both provide privacy and yet easy running-distance in case Brendan was needed for something important. She would be damned, however, if she allowed anymore trivial drivel to further stress the king. Brendan sighed, closing his eyes with a peaceful smile as soon as his back touched the rough bark of their impromptu safe haven.

"See? You can barely stand." The queen was quick to chastise.

Brendan's smile vanished. He cracked one eye open to look at her with a simple grunt. "Thanks."

Morgana shook her head. "I understand the importance of preparedness in battle, but you must take care of yourself, Brendan. What good would you be to us otherwise?"

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as if that would get rid of the dark bruises beginning to form underneath them. "I have to make sure everyone is informed and on the same page about any changes in the plan, and keep informed on any problems, such as the situation with our supplies, and not to mention the location of the enemy relative to us. I don't have time to worry about myself."

"You are not alone, you know." She snapped.

"The soldiers and the knights all must answer to me, even when I appoint them such tasks directly."

Morgana scoffed, raising both of her eyebrows as she looked at him. "And what am I, Bren, a sack of potatoes?"

His eyes narrowed and his frown grew deeper as he turned his head to give her his full attention, looking disgruntled. "But…I thought you were mad at me…"

"What? Why?"

"Well…you wouldn't even stay for dinner the other night, and—"

"Your Majesties!" They both look up to see Sir Finn, a young man in his early-twenties with blonde hair, a healthy tan, and deep, green eyes, trotting towards them. Brendan is immediately on his feet, and Morgana uncertainly joins him. "We have just received word from a scout coming from the front lines; a band of Thárros's mercenaries has slipped past the defenses and is currently near Bath! They managed to escape posing as evacuating peasants!"

"Bath? That's at least three hours away! We must leave, immediately, before they burn it to the ground." Without even glancing at her, Brendan reaches and grabs her hand, dragging her with them toward the men and horses. The other soldiers were already scrambling to their respective posts and steeds without him even needing to give the order, word likely having spread already.

Morgana pondered then if the Congress was, in some way, right. Would she be nothing more than an accessory; something for Bren to drag around, despite his earlier assurances that she was to be his equal? After all, he wasn't even letting her handle something as simple as taking stock of supplies, when he was in obvious need of non-supervising assistance.

She hoped it was simply a case of battle-fever. Perhaps he would talk to her once the eminent fight was over and put out of his mind.

* * *

><p>The queen sighed as she flopped bodily onto her bedroll, letting her hair down and kicking off her boots, her sword already discarded. Dusk was quickly changing to night, and the world outside of her tent was lively with chatter and bustling men as the others moved to set up their own camp.<p>

The flap of her tent opens, and she immediately reaches for her sword, but doesn't bring it any closer as she moves to sit up. Brendan stares back at her, moonlight pouring in and bathing him as he half-crouches half-kneels in the impromptu doorway with a bedroll under his other arm. Morgana notices the brief flicker of his eyes to her sword and the quick flash of a small smile on his face. Approval? Amusement?

The queen shook her head, and drew her hand from the pommel of her blade. "Are you going to stay there all night or come in?"

He silently obeys, and then looks between her, the floor, and his bedroll, consternation crossing his features. He looks to her again, opening his mouth to ask, but Morgana quickly spoke up with a roll of her eyes.

"Yes, next to mine, Bren. For God's sake, speak, would you?"

"Right! Right…" He quickly tosses the thing down, and throws himself on it as he scrambles to be on his side, as though fire ants are dancing on him. His back faces her, and Morgana can see _and _feel the tension. It's thickening the air and coiling in the muscles in between his shoulder blades.

"Bren,"

He _jumps_, shoulders growing even tenser. "Thank you…my lady."

His voice held a noticeable quaver, even as soft as it was, and Morgana's worry escalated. Very carefully, she reached out to lay a hand gently on his shoulder, her voice soft yet firm. "Brendan,"

Her jerks out of her reach, rolling over and off of his mat and getting to his feet, he turns in a 1X2 stepping circle, since there isn't enough room in the tent to well and truly pace. He runs his hands through his hair.

"Brendan, _what_, in God's name, is wrong?" Morgana gapes at him as she gets to her feet, but she cannot find the strength to move to him when he so obviously…_feared _her right now.

He quickly crossed his arms and turned his back to her, and she could clearly see his shoulders trembling. "N-No, nothing!"

Morgana felt her restraint crumble, easily crossing the distance, landing her hands on his shoulders, and turning him around, all as quickly and as carefully as possible. The first thing she saw was what scared her. A quick flash of red as he was spun to face her, coming from his mouth. "Oh my God!"

It took less than a second for the horrible realization that, no, he didn't have a split lip. It was something _in _his mouth, _his finger_. She petitioned God again, grabbed him by both wrists, and yanked them both forward, despite that Brendan tried to jerk them away. He attempted to curl his hands into fists, but a quick, sharp squeeze on his wrists stopped him. Her mouth dropped in horror. _Every single finger_, every cuticle, was framed by dried and caked blood. Tiny, jagged fragments of fingernails' remains were all that resembled actual nails, left on, perhaps, _two_ of them. He'd reopened his left hand's thumb, a thin line of blood now dividing the pink shell of his cuticle.

"_Brendan…_!_ Why_?!"

He refused to look at her, his head turned to stubbornly stare at the tent's opening and his mouth set in a firm line. Morgana decided to waste no time in prodding him, instead dragging him over to the far corner where she quickly picked up the traveling first-aid kit she had packed for personal use. Other than that and one change of simple ridding clothes, she had nothing else in the small tent.

Forcing her stubborn husband to sit down on her own bedroll, Morgana kept a loose hold of his wrists with one hand. Thankfully, he didn't take the opportunity to struggle, as he could have easily slipped away. First things first, she grabbed some cotton swabs, her water skin, and the silver flask in the kit and began cleaning his bloody fingers with water, doing her best to ignore his hisses and whimpers of pain as scabs were peeled off and open cuts were agitated with the cleaning. She made quick work of bandaging his fingers with the cloth bandages at hand, tying them off at the knuckles tightly, but not tight enough to cut off circulation. Lastly, she unscrewed the cap of the flask and shoved it under his nose.

"Drink. It will help calm you down." She ordered softly.

He reluctantly reached up to take the flask and obeyed, tilting his head back as he swigged half of the flask in two chugs before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and handing it to her. Morgana shook her head, took two smaller sips of the smooth wine for her frayed nerves, and screwed the cap back on tightly before setting it off to the side and closing the first-aid kit.

"Now, do you mind telling me why you _ate _your fingers, and why you're acting as though I'm a ghost while you're at it?"

"It's nothing." He muttered, studying her handiwork for himself. "Thank you."

Morgana rolled her eyes and reached forward, letting her fingertips brush gently along his cheek as she gingerly brought his face up to look her in the eyes. "Brendan, please. I may not know you well, but even _I _can tell. You aren't the same man I married right now. _Talk to me_, please."

He took a deep, shaky breathe and shook his head. Morgana could see the emotions play across his eyes, chasing the distant memories of ghosts; fear, pain, panic, regret, helplessness, exhaustion, and a deep seed of something that sent a shiver up her spine. Underneath it all, he was angry.

_Why? _That question fleetingly ran across her mind, but why what? _Why?_

She wished she knew why he had been changing so much today. First, he was willing to leave her out of everything for fear of her ire, and now, he was this…vulnerable, terrified person. What happened?

* * *

><p><em>The sounds of fighting rang loudly in Morgana's ears as she slammed her sword deep into the neck of a mounted-soldier of Thárros from atop Bucephalus, the body falling with a heavy thud to the ground as blood poured from its neck. Another soldier charged at her, sword waving high as a scream tore from his throat in vengeance of his fallen comrade. The queen stared at him coldly as she turned her horse on the dime and thrust her blood-coated weapon into his unprotected chest, his reaction-time pitifully slow. Since he wore only leather armor and no helmet, Morgana knew he was simply a mercenary. His horse jumped and bucked off the corpse as it bleated in fright. The animal gave a wet, gurgling cough as Morgana rammed her sword through its skull from the front of the head, and then fell on top of its owner.<em>

_The knights around her all raised their swords and roared with applause. "Hail the queen! Long live the queen! Hoorah!"_

_Morgana smiled as she sheathed her sword. The band of raiders had been pitifully small, twenty to thirty men, and an easy job for her, Brendan, and the five of the knights that had volunteered to remain. Meanwhile the other seven left with the infantry squad to advance to a halfway point between Bath and Ft. Fianna, where the king, queen, and the rest would rejoin them as they made sure no more 'escaping peasants' would be a problem. Bath was the only village close to Ft. Fianna within Tir-Mor's border, half a day's ride, so they were sure to be alerted to anymore oncoming danger._

"_Well done, my warrior queen!" Brendan rode up beside her, leaning over in his saddle to kiss her on the cheek in congratulations. "As brave and strong as you are beautiful; I could not ask for a more perfect queen!" He turns to the few men. "Well, boys? Does the enemy have something to fear or don't they?"_

_Agreeing bellows ring out, along with another 'Hoorah!'_

"_If that is indeed the case, we must move with most haste, my lord." Morgana spoke up. "We don't want to keep them waiting to meet their match, now, do we?" She added, batting her lashes._

_Brendan burst out laughing. "You heard her, men; she's more eager to fight than the rest of you lilies!"_

_A chorus of mocking 'ooh's' is replied, followed by 'Yes, sir!"_

_Morgana followed Brendan to take point of the group by his side at his inclined nod, grinning all the while._

* * *

><p>That had been just what she was hoping for. She'd proved to herself her wise call of judgment when she'd jumped head-first into the fight, long before anyone could even think to move to protect her. After all, if she was doubted in politics, then she would prove herself in battle until she was capable of otherwise.<p>

She had taken out at least six men on her own, before anyone else even moved in, and taken out about four more, on her own, once the knight's realized it was either the mercenaries or them if they dared get in her way, although she'd never meant to nearly decapitate Sir Finn. Thank God he'd ducked.

Brendan had been oozing with pride since then, and at least willing to talk to her about something, even if it was generally small talk. Eventually, they'd separated, though. While she didn't think things would be exactly the same when they'd meet again, she certainly hadn't expected him to be like this.

"Please, Brendan," Morgana pressed. "I want to help you, but I can't do that if you won't tell me what's wrong." She paused, deciding to take a shot in the dark. "Is it something I've done? Have I offended you in some way, or—?"

"Not you…" He mumbled, and even with their close proximity, faces only inches apart, she could barely hear him.

A weight lifted off of her shoulders, but it got her no closer to solving the actual problem afflicting him. Then, realization dawned. An icy lump of fear settled deep in her belly.

They were an hour away from the battleground of Ft. Fianna. Come dawn, the battle would begin.

How had she not realized it? "Are you nervous…about our coming battle, my lord?"

"A—" Something foreign flashed onto his face, unreadable, but definitely there. She saw his throat work as he swallowed, felt the rush of air as he let out another long, uneven sigh. Slowly, he nodded, paused, and shook his head before finally opening his mouth to clarify. "Maybe…It's…complicated…"

Wow, three words that made a vague statement. _I will not slap him. I will not slap him and make things worse. _

"I promise that I'm more than willing to listen." Morgana offered once more, giving him a small but genuine smile.

"I…" Relief flooded his eyes, but did nothing to wash away the rest of his conflictions, despite the shaky, tight smile that let her know she'd said something at least partially right. However, instead of going on, Morgana finds herself between standing and sitting as he half-heartedly pulls her upper-body into an unexpected embrace. "Thanks…"

"You're…welcome…my lord." Morgana replied, breathless and blinking with dumfounded-ness.

Not knowing what else to do, the raven-haired beauty wraps her arms loosely around his neck and rests her head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent as she thinks. She can smell the lingering night air on his skin and the earthy scent clinging to his clothes, but Brendan himself doesn't particularly smell like anything, and she can only feel the rush of his warm blood in the pulse underneath his neck with the tip of her nose. His heartbeat was a tad faster than normal, but nothing alarming, so she allowed her mind to wander beyond the 'there and then' of the moment.

She remembered his fear of her being angry over their last conversation at the castle, and that…tiff once again replayed in her mind.

"_If we don't produce an heir by the end of the year, you may be petitioned to be set aside and the alliance between us and Camelot will be annulled…with a window…I'm marching off to battle the day after tomorrow."_

Something clicked horribly in the back of her mind, and a memory she wished she could forget from that same day's morning resurfaced.

"_We agreed on the prospects of an inter-alliance marriage…because you, the sole child and proclaimed heir of the late King Cedric, must perform the duty of every son to his family."_

_No,_ Morgana thought, her disbelief mounting, mixed with the odd desire to both burst out laughing and begin screaming curses. _Is he…worried he'll die here? Is he worried he will perish and leave the kingdom…without an heir?_

"It isn't just the battle…Being a ruler…means walking with death." She hears him whisper. "But this place…Fianna…brings bad memories."

Morgana blinked. He'd been talking? She frowned, unsure if she should ask, but unwilling to begrudge a chance to help him. "Bad memories?"

"Yes…" Her voice was quiet, encouraging, but she felt him tense against her all the same, his hold tightening. Then, strangely, he began to laugh; a quiet, almost excusable, chuckle under his breath. He pulled away from her entirely, his eyes both glittering with suppressed laughter and yet shining with unshed tears as he faced her, his mouth once more a tight, neutral line. "My father…Cedric was a luxuriously lucky man compared to most, even among kings…but he was an incredibly foolish man in one sense."

"How so?" Morgana prompted once he fell silent again, worry gripped her heart when she saw those tears begin to brim within the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall as his hands balled into shaking fists in his lap. "Bren…"

"Cedric cared for one thing and one thing alone; my mother. He was simply a noblemen before their marriage, and it was generally an arranged marriage, but one that turned into a loving one…and I was never meant to be the only child born of that love." The tears finally spilled, and his voice became restrained sobs thick with emotion. "I was to…to have a sister before Sophia, but my mother was approaching middle-age and the pregnancy caused strain on her body that only made delivery…chancy."

"She didn't live." Morgana's voice surprised herself, and she felt the stab of guilt as she saw Brendan ominously still.

He shook his head, his smile rueful. "Neither did my sister…Fianna Grainné Fionn."

"Dear Lord…" A lump constricted in the queen's throat.

"I—"

"Bren, no—I-I don't need…to hear anymore. I only wanted to know what was bothering you; I didn't mean to open your wounds."

"No!" Morgana jumped as he looked up at her, eyes wide and pained. "No…I…need to say—"

"No, you don't—"

"Yes, I do." He held her gaze steadily. "…My lady, if I don't say this now…we will both regret it. Please,"

Morgana bit her lip and dropped her gaze. She knew what it was like to keep what was bothering you inside, but she also didn't want to hurt him in the process of helping him. "Alright…go ahead."

"It was…the end of Yule. She went into labor…and…I remember…pile after pile of bed sheets dyed dark-red being carried past where he and I sat in the hall, listening to her screams of pain and pleading as she cried for Father, and then…he left me out there as he went in. It felt like hours, and when he came back out, he was never the same man again…but…I'll never forget…" He paused to swallow, drawing his knees to his chest. "…When I…went in to see them myself, I had no idea that either of them were dead…Morgana…"

She tried to answer, but her eyes were terrifyingly transfixed on him, her stomach tied in knots with her throat at its center. His gaze pierced her worse than any arrow or blade, and it drowned her in his misery, trapped her within the depths of his eyes.

"Morgana…I don't want to be a father…but…I can't leave my kingdom with no future. Battles…like this…they make me think about my death, and for the past three years since my father knighted me, I have…felt absolutely useless and deplorable…I was…forcibly gambling with…my country's future…because of this war and my father's foolishness. I…could do nothing…but…now…I can, and I wish I couldn't."

His words sunk in with frightening clarity, her mind an endless cycle. _With a window…must perform the duty of every son to his family. Forcibly gambling his country's future…one year…one year…_

It was proving to be a very long and difficult night indeed. She watched him break down and dissolve into a true fit of weeping, and her heart hurt more than words could describe. She had been the cause of his suffering when she only sought to ease his burden. Before she could think, Brendan was being pulled into her arms, his head lying on her chest. She did the only thing she could, making empty promises as she rocked him and futilely tried to wipe away his never-ending tears.

"We all have things that terrify us, Bren. We all have things that we have to do and accept…no matter how badly we wish we could run from them…"

_How ironic. _She thought. _I never thought I would be saying _that_ to the man I loathed the idea of marrying for the last two months. Perhaps we are the perfect travesty-couple after all._

In later years to come, Morgana would bitterly lament the truth those words would ring.


End file.
